Hate to Love You
by ballet
Summary: It wasn't always this way. Life has pulled them in two seperate directions. She hates him. He can't stand her. But when their crosses become too much to bear, they realize they may have more in common than they could ever fathom.
1. more than meets the eyes

Same Hate To Love You, just updated and revamped. I'll be posting the first eight chapters as I edit them, and then I'll finally be updating with new chapters after that. If you were a fan of this fic the first time around (I started writing it in 2001), I hope you like the changes. I'd like to think I've become a much better writer since then. If you've never read it, and this is your first exposure, I hope you'll enjoy it now.

This is kind of an AU – same Cliffhangers, same issues. The only difference? Scott and Shelby went to school together, from kindergarten, onward. Their issues are still the same, and woven into that fabric. It shouldn't be too hard to follow, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask! And as always, reviews (good, bad, indifferent) are appreciated ;)

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A petite blonde reclined on the buttery smooth leather couch between two football players, a thin, rolled cylinder hanging between her fingers. The paper glowed as she brought the joint towards her lips, inhaling sharply, her full lips refusing to part as she passed on the chemical joy to the boy on her right. The party was being held in honor of the school's football team, who'd just won the state championships for the second year in a row, the first time their school had won back to back titles in nearly twenty years. The girl, a far away look in her dark blue eyes, glanced sideways, part annoyed, part amused, as the boy on her left began to slide his hand under her green sweater and up her back. She pushed him away, delicate little fingers wrapping around his wrist as she moved to whisper in his ear, her lips nearly dancing along the lobe.

"I want the money up front"

The boy fumbled around in his pocket, before pulling out a rather thick wad of bills. He handed them to her quickly, and she let go of his wrist almost immediately. He then watched, anxious, as she counted them, her movements slow and deliberate, smoothing out each bill, her face devoid of any emotion. Finally, after what seemed to have been hours, weeks, months, her pink lips twisted into a seductive smirk. She folded the bills up, still slow and deliberate, and slipped them in the back pocket of her jeans. Standing up, she offered him her hand, which he eagerly accepted, and they disappeared upstairs. On the couch, the boy who'd been sitting on the right, pouting, sucking on his joint dejectedly.

A mere two minutes later, a tall boy with dirty blond hair and, a giggly, dirty blonde cheerleader on his arm made his grand entrance. He was greeted with a loud chorus of compliments, high fives, hand shakes, chest bumps, and pats on the back, as someone handed him a beer; the entire scene seemed surreal, like something out of a bad teen movie. But then again, you couldn't deny that his life was just that fantastic, perhaps even better than fiction. And now he'd elevated himself to god-like status. After all, he'd scored all three touchdowns in their dominant 21-0 victory. Who wouldn't call Scott Barringer a hero?

"Yo, Brad!" Scott called, making his way over to the expansive, expensive leather couch, where his friend Brad sat, a joint in hand, stoned as usual. Brad Richardson, the son of a wealthy real estate developer, appeared in the same position, the same state, at every party since Scott had met him early freshman year. He'd even been dubbed with the nickname "Old Reliable," because in a world of constant change – a revolving door of friends, girlfriends and luxury cars – you could be as sure as the sun rises that Brad would be stoned by 9pm. However, tonight, there was something off about the picture. "What, no girl? Christ, man, are you losin' your touch?" Scott joked, cracking open his beer, accepting the joint Brad handed him.

Brad rolled his eyes, pursing his lips together and presenting Scott with a single finger salute. "Fuck you, dude," he muttered, shaking his head back and forth for a few moments, tracing the stitching on one of the couch's accent pillows before he continued. "You know man, I was so fucking close to getting with Shelby until Mark started feeling her up. So fucking close dude," he continued, holding up his thumb and pointer finger, squeezing them together to emphasize his point. "But naw, man, I was too busy with this shit," he sighed, holding up his nearly spent joint, staring at it sadly. "Too fucking busy."

He smirked. "Merrick? With Mark? Figures" he replied knowingly. Scott and Shelby Merrick had shared a long standing hatred of each other. At one point they'd been best friends, despite the fact that they'd been bickering since kindergarten, when Scott had an irritating penchant for stealing Shelby's nap mat, often hiding it in embarrassing venues, such as the boy's bathroom. It only escalated when they both played on the same co-ed kiddie soccer team, often more set on beating each other than quashing the other team. Needless to say, the spark had been lit, and they'd been competitive at anything and everything since then.

Brad rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer, half amused, half aggravated. "Man, you two have _got_ to hook up. Everyone can see you two are totally perfect together except, well, you know … you guys," Brad surmised with a grand, sweeping gesture of his hand.

Scott raised an eyebrow, and gave Brad his famous half smile. The entire idea was ludicrous. Everyone didn't think they were totally perfect together – in fact, no one thought they'd be perfect together. What was so perfect? He was the star wide receiver, resident stud, student council president … and who was she? A loose girl from the wrong side of the tracks who smoked, slept around, cut class – a girl who he could never, ever even fathom bringing home to meet his father. Only Brad in his buzzed haze would come up with something so ridiculous. Right?

"Me?" Scott asked, pointing at himself, a look of disbelief mixing with a smirk crossing his face. "With Merrick?" he went on, pointing in the general direction of the stairs. Laughing as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world, Scott sucked mightily on his own joint before handing it to Brad, clapping his friend on the back as he exhaled. "You're fucking hilarious dude. I'll see you," he said, nodding as he and Cindy, the giggly cheerleader who was dumb as a pile of rocks, but who'd be the perfect candidate for dinner with Dad, made their way through a sea of bodies, heading towards their own private party upstairs.

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A week passed. It was dark, and crickets chirped noisily, their song interrupting the otherwise silent, still night. Outside, a slight wind rippled the leaves on the trees, shades of red, yellow, and orange falling towards the ground, cold from fall's frosty temperatures. They swirled about in the yard of the small white house, dancing around the station wagon parked in the driveway, skimming the old fashioned wood and rope swing, swaying back and forth slowly in the breeze. It was a beautiful scene, tranquil and almost picture perfect. But you'd be silly to judge a book by its cover.

Inside the white house, Shelby Merrick slowly crept down the stairs with baited breath, praying the stairs wouldn't creak, no doubt waking everyone in the small dwelling. Reaching the landing, she refused to emit a sign of relief, and continued to hold her breath, hitching her worn, blue knapsack higher on her back. She couldn't take being home anymore. Walt had already visited her room that night. There had been a time where she'd told herself that eventually, it wouldn't be so bad. That she'd get used to it. But after nearly five years, it never changed. She never failed to feel completely and utterly violated – to feel so dirty that even if she took a thousand showers, even if she scrubbed with soap until her skin broke and she bled red tears, she'd still feel, and be, infinitely dirty.

Biting down on her tongue, she tiptoed out the door and headed for the main road without looking back. It wasn't until she was several blocks away that she exhaled, that she began to breathe again. The further she walked away from him, from the house, from all of those memories, the better she felt. She knew the euphoria would be short lived, but she'd learned to take what she could get.

As she walked along, she slipped her hand in her pocket, making sure the tight, massive wad of money that she'd collected over the past few weeks from the wealthy, desperate, stupid boys she slept with, was still there. She'd run away before, this was far from being the first time. Her mother often found her and hauled her back quickly, but last time she'd made herself scarce. She'd also run out of money quickly, and reluctantly resorted to turning tricks after sleeping under the Santa Monica pier for three weeks running, going to bed cold, with an empty stomach. Prostitution fed her, clothed her, and gave her a place to live. She wasn't proud of it, but she did what she had to do to survive. But there was an ugly side to her newfound livelihood. There were violent pimps and violent customers and she'd ended up battered and bruised, with split lips and fingerprints lining her pale arms. She didn't want to have to resort to that this time. She didn't want to answer to anyone – she didn't want to be beat to a bloody pulp in some back alley. She didn't want to become some unidentified hooker they'd found in a dumpster, headlining the 6 o'clock news.

So she'd continued selling herself, but to a more tame crowd. High school boys with trustfunds were the ideal customers: too nervous and inexperienced to try anything stupid, but wealthy enough to afford her services. Shelby had been "working the circuit," which consisted of weekend house parties and late night "study dates," for about three months. She figured the more money she took with her, the longer she would have before going back to her old, more dangerous way of life.

_This time, I'm not getting caught. I'm not going back to that hell hole with him,_ Shelby thought to herself, determined. Her feet slowing to a stop, she let her knapsack go slack in her hand as she stuck out her left thumb, and waited for someone to stop.

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Scott Barringer lay completely still, face down on his pillow, praying she wouldn't come. Deep down, he knew praying was futile. No matter how much he begged the higher powers, she always showed up, like twisted clockwork, her negligee tickling his knees, her smooth hands, armed with long, red lacquered talons skimming his strong, toned chest. He'd writhe and twist but she was so much stronger than she looked. She'd place a finger on his lips, smiling sweetly, reminding him not to play rough – she didn't want his father to think he'd lashed out at her in a fit of hormonal rage. Wouldn't that just be terrible, Scotty, she'd ask him, her lips smirking at him as she pressed herself against him, amused. The very thought of her body weight on top of him made him feel physically ill.

He'd used enough that night – some acid, some shrooms, a beer of two. Knowing prayer was bullshit, and the concept of her staying in her own room was downright stupid, he hoped he'd just black out when she came in, saying she was scared. As if on cue, the door swung open, and she walked in, smiling like a canary filled cat. The lightening cracked outside and her silhouette reflected against the door just before she closed it, fingers twisting the lock. He was still awake. His friends from his chemical party hadn't kicked in yet. Scott immediately tensed at the sound of her voice.

"Scotty? I'm scared of the storm Scotty"

She was whispering, climbing into his bed, pulling back the covers. He wanted to throw her off. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw up. But instead, he remained face down, his jaw set, nose smashed against the mattress.

"I know you're awake, Scotty."

He felt her climb onto him, pressing her front into his back, her fingers wrapping around his defined biceps. She laughed lightly and kissed him gently, just behind his ear. "Don't play games with me, Scott. I know you're awake. Come on …" she said, keeping her voice low, trying to roll him over.

He refused to move. He wouldn't budge, until he felt her nails digging into his flesh. She was smart, making sure to leave her mark high enough so it wouldn't be visible, even in a short sleeved t-shirt. Scott resisted for as long as he could before he realized she wouldn't let up, and the pain became too great. Rolling over, he saw her eyes light up. His face was stony, serious, angry. "Get out of here. I hate you"

He stared straight up into her brown eyes, appearing beady and black in the darkness. But she ignored him, that smirk appearing on her pillowy lips once more. "You don't mean that Scotty" Elayne cooed, climbing back on top of him, unbuttoning his pants.

"I told you no more. You said no more" Scott said through gritted teeth.

"I didn't say that Scotty" she purred, as his pants slid down to his ankles and she began to touch him.

Scott closed his eyes, a wince covering his features. How was this happening? Why? What did he do? Why wasn't he stopping her? He was the football captain, for crying out loud. Football captains weren't raped. Men weren't raped. This stuff only happened to girls, didn't it? Christ, he was a freak. A pathetic, disgusting freak. A pathetic, disgusting freak consumed by confusion and guilt.

Keeping his eyes closed, all Scott could envision was his fathers face. And then the blackness slammed into him.

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Shelby sat in the car tapping her foot against the door, annoyed, as her father drove up the winding road to Mount Horizon. Her pretty features were stoic, solid, unwavering. They hadn't exchanged so much as a single word the entire day, and she wasn't about to alter the situation.

After a year of being alone on the streets, turning to prostitution after the money ran out, her father had found her. Her mother, too busy being Walt's wife, had called her ex husband, asking him to "become involved" in Shelby's life. Essentially, she was asking him to look for her, because she'd washed her hands of the situation. Her father, previously absent since her parents split shortly after her younger sister Jess was born, had surprisingly complied. Donald Trump he wasn't, but Steve Merrick had enough money to hire a private investigator, and find his missing offspring within a week.

She'd been hauled off by police, after they found her smoking a cigarette on the corner of Sunset Boulevard. Assuming she'd been arrested for hooking at most, loitering at best, Shelby, dressed in a pleather mini skirt, black halter top, wild hair and garish makeup, looking much older than her nearly sixteen years, was shocked when the holding cell opened and her father appeared. The situation had been strange, but deep down, Shelby was filled with a sliver of hope. This was her ticket away from the hell that was her home with Walt. However, as usual, her euphoria was short lived. She'd been living with her father a mere week before he decided he couldn't handle her. Found her the last week in May, ready to get rid of her the first week in June. Sure, maybe it was kind of her fault. The drinking, the drugs – she still couldn't stay away from trouble. So now, he was shipping her off to some twisted school for delinquents.

Steve Merrick's jeep rounded a bend in the road, and a wooden sign came into view. "Welcome to Mount Horizon," her father half stated, half read, trying to keep his voice cheerful. He'd tried – perhaps not as hard as he should have, but tried nonetheless – to make things work with Shelby. He knew he'd deserted her, and that she resented that, but he countered that chain smoking and drinking Jack Daniels wasn't exactly the most encouraging sign of progress from his teenage daughter. Why not nip the problems in the bud, before she morphed from a dysfunctional adolescent to a unable-to-function-period adult?

Her father's comment was met with deafening silence, and Shelby frowned as her father stopped the car. Her father stepped out, but she remained inside, still wearing her seatbelt, arms crossed, face still devoid of emotion. Her stony dark blue eyes watched as a clean shaven man dressed in a tan coat and jeans emerged from a building nearby, heading towards her father. The shook hands, and her father motioned to the car; they both stared at her expectantly, and Shelby could sense the man in the tan coat was prepared to greet her via her open window. She moved to roll it up, but then cursed her father for removing the keys. Damn power windows.

Rolling her eyes, Shelby stepped out of the car, wordlessly observing her surroundings, arms still crossed.

"And this is Shelby," her father said expectantly, pushing her forward a little bit. Shelby's arms remained cross, her actions and gaze passive, but the man didn't miss a beat. In fact, he smiled warmly.

"Its nice to meet both of you. I'm Peter Scarbrow, the headmaster of Horizon." he said, extending his hand to Shelby.

She didn't budge.

He kept smiling, and nodded at her. He expected it, and pressed on. "Okay then. Shelby, this is Hannah Bauer. She'll be your counselor here," Peter continued, motioning to the red headed woman that had just walked up, also all smiles despite Shelby's cold demeanor. "You'll have a physical, and we'll check your things. Then we'll introduce you to your group, the Cliffhangers".

Shelby rolled her eyes, and smirked, finally breaking her silence. It was impossible for her to stay quiet, given this new information. "Cliffhangers, huh? How summer camp can you get, Peter?" she asked, amused, before picking up her bag, and following Hannah, without so much as a glance in her father's direction.

Peter stared after her. She was a firecracker. Sarcastic, sharp tongued, had an answer for everything. Walls of concrete, if he'd read her right. Her wit would have amused him if he didn't know any better. But her eyes spoke volumes. Those lost, empty, dark blue pools frightened him. Every kid that came to Horizon was damaged in some way, always a heart wrenching story beneath the surface. But some were completely torn apart. Some had so many pieces taken from their soul that there was so very little left.

Peter Scarbrow had an undeniable feeling that Shelby Merrick was one of them.

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Evening was falling in Washington, the sun sinking in the sky as it began to morph from a glorious blue to varying shades of purple and pink and orange. The summer heat, scorching during the day, was finally beginning to subside. Tires screeched and masculine laughter filled the air outside of an impressive, large brick colonial mansion. Scott stepped out of Brad's completely restored classic convertible, grasping the door for a moment to steady himself before continuing on, tossing his friend his lighter over the windshield as he walked around the hood, towards his front door.

He'd spent yet another day getting wasted so he'd be ready for Elayne when he got home. There wasn't much else to do, since he'd gotten kicked off the football team a few weeks before. No summer practices, no running drills, no hopes of a third state championship title trophy to add to his collection. His father had been so disappointed. Aside from his own work, Scott's football was the one thing that consumed Martin Barringer's life. His son was so talented, so good, scouted by college football superpowers such as USC since he was a ripe freshman. He had dreams of the NFL, of bragging rights, of endorsement deals. Needless to say, his entire world felt like it was crashing down when Scott's coach called. Missed practices? No focus? Failed drug test! Martin had nearly cried. But surprisingly, Scott didn't care all that much. Football seemed so pointless, so minor when your step mother was paying a visit to your room every night, while your father, the man you thought of as one of your best friends, slept soundly one room away, with no clue as to what was going on in the next room.

As soon as Scott walked in the door that night, he knew something was up. His father and Elayne were waiting for them, their faces solemn and serious. His blood boiled as her father put his arm around Elayne and she leaned closer to him. She was such a fucking con. He wanted to tell his father – he needed to tell his father. But he knew it would destroy them both.

Still frozen on the spot, Scott noticed his luggage and backs, usually only taken out for vacations, packed and ready to go in the entryway. His eyes were diverted once more as a large black man he didn't know, whom he'd never even seen before, appeared in the hallway. Feeling trapped, he tried to make a run for it, but his resistance was futile. The man grabbed him with the strength of a linebacker, holding him back, securing his wrists together with a thin, but strong strip of plastic. Refusing to give up, allowing all of his rage to fly, Scott continued to fight, even as the man easily hauled him away, placing him in the backseat of his father's car, his father carrying his bags with Elayne close behind.

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The ride up to Horizon had been tense, to say the least. Scott had nearly fooled his father, insisting that he had to go to the bathroom, convincing him to let him use the facilities away from the watchful eye of Roger Claypool, the man who'd dragged him out of his house as if he were a infant. Unfortunately, his attempt to escape out of a side window was botched when he realized that Roger was right there, waiting for him, ready to drag him back to the car, to announce to his father and stepmother that he'd tried to make a break for it. Elanye shook her head. Scott wanted to hit her.

Then he'd blown up at his father once they'd arrived, leaving him in his dust on his way to his routine physical. Then the headmaster, who'd introduced himself as Peter Scarbrow, had read him the riot act. There was to be no drugs, no sex, no inappropriate touching, and no violence. In other words, no fun, Scott thought to himself dryly, though he kept his mouth shut. As Peter informed him that Horizon was safe, a sanctuary for Scott, he confiscated the drugs he'd stashed away in his pockets, his shoes. In taking away his acid, Peter had just taken away the only sanctuary, the only safe haven that Scott ever knew. He'd never felt more desperate or alone

Now he was finally processed in. Walking behind Peter across the campus in silence, almost hiding, he was being taken to meet the members of his group. _The Cliffhangers_, Scott thought to himself, remembering Peter's address, fighting the urge to chuckle, _what is this, fucking 6th grade summer camp?_

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Shelby sat in a chair in the lodge, lazily twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Her face contorted into an impossibly bored expression, she quickly glanced around at the other members of her "group." Two months on and she was surprised she hadn't jumped off a cliff, what with the combination of banal boys and giggly girls. There was Katherine, the quote unquote leader, the adopted girl who felt impossibly guilty because her sister drowned on her watch. There was Augusto, or Auggie, the gangbanger who liked to play with spray-paint in public places. There was Ezra, eternal loser and resident pharmacist, another adoptee who was used as a pawn in his parent's failed marriage. Of course, there was Juliette, the perky little prom queen who worshiped the porcelain gods after every meal, destroying herself slowly with a finger down her throat and a razor to her wrists in her quest to become mommy's perfect little princess. And there was Daisy. She actually liked Daisy, as much as she hated to admit it. Like Ezra, she was the product of a failed marriage, and both parents were alcoholics. She'd whacked her father with a seven iron, which gained her innumerable brownie points from Shelby.

She knew all about them. They talked about their lives, their problems, in group. Sometimes they cried, sometimes they got angry. But Shelby? Shelby didn't talk. Shelby didn't cry. Shelby didn't get angry. Shelby was calm and cool and calculated. She liked to run away, the end. Next?

"Yo man, Peter better get here soon. I ain't waitin' around for this new kid all day" Auggie complained. "You know, homework?"

"I wonder what they'll be like. Probably another generic 'I don't belong here' sob story," Ezra commented, rolling his eyes, his dark, unruly hair falling in his circle lined eyes.

Just then, Peter walked in, the said newbie behind him. Slightly slumped in her chair, all Shelby could see was a tall, sturdy figure, topped off with blonde curls. Straightening up a bit, Shelby's mouth twisted into a smile, her heart beginning to pound. Maybe this kid would finally put an end to the mediocrity that was the Cliffhanger group. Leaning over slightly, she tried to get a better view, but she could only make out an arm, wrapped in a gray sweater. Still hopeful, she kept shifting, her smile turning into a smirk. _Maybe today won't be so bad after all._

Peter cleared his throat, clapping his hands briskly and everyone came to attention. "Alright everyone. We have a new cliffhanger. This is Scott..."

It seemed like time stood still, and Shelby's mouth dropped open in utter disbelief. She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach and slapped her upside the head. Her mind was traveling a thousand miles an hour in that one millisecond and it took her voice, and mouth, another half of a millisecond to catch up. "Barringer!"

Scott looked just as shocked as Shelby felt. His eyes went wide and he felt like he was glued to his spot as he looked at that same face he'd known, competed with, and on some levels, loathed, for his entire life. The face that had disappeared a year ago, without explanation, without a trace. There were rumors that she was in jail, rumors that she was in boarding school, rumors that she overdosed. But there she was, sitting right in front of him, looking like the same girl he'd teased so relentlessly – only with more modest clothes and makeup. "Merrick?" he finally sputtered. "What are you doing here?".

"What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here?".

Peter was admittedly confused. "You two know each other?".

"Yeah. Unfortunately" Shelby replied, glaring at Scott.

Peter shook his head, still trying to make sense of the situation as the two teenagers continued to alternate between gaping and glaring, the rest of the group sitting back and enjoying the something-you-don't-see-everyday show. "Well, strange, seeing Scott is from Washington, and you're from California." Peter commented, slightly prying for information without revealing his intentions.

"I used to live in Washington. I just moved to California. I used to go to school with Scott" Shelby said tightly, feeling a bit dizzy.

"Talk about fate – you can blink now," Daisy whispered in Shelby's ear. Shelby turned her glare from Scott, to Daisy, who held up her pale hands in surrender and took a step back, eyebrow cocked.

"All right guys, listen up" Peter bellowed, immediately regaining control of the potentially volatile situation. "Shelby, since you're apparently familiar, you can give him the grand tour. The rest of you have kitchens".

Shelby frowned, as the others went off to the kitchen, wishing, for once, that she could scrub pots and pans with those lovely industrial yellow gloves. _Welcome back to hell, Shelby, _she thought to herself bitterly, as she turned on her heel without waiting, stalking out the door Scott following a few steps behind.

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Chapter 2 will be up in a few days. R&R please!


	2. a little more than mitosis

Same Hate To Love You, just updated and revamped. I'll be posting the first eight chapters as I edit them, and then I'll finally be updating with new chapters after that. If you were a fan of this fic the first time around (I started writing it in 2001), I hope you like the changes. I'd like to think I've become a much better writer since then. If you've never read it, and this is your first exposure, I hope you'll enjoy it now.

This is kind of an AU – same Cliffhangers, same issues. The only difference? Scott and Shelby went to school together, from kindergarten, onward. Their issues are still the same, and woven into that fabric. It shouldn't be too hard to follow, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask! And as always, reviews (good, bad, indifferent) are appreciated ;)

Authors Note: Thank you all _so_ very much for the reviews, you don't know how much I appreciate them. I'm sorry I didn't get this up sooner, but I've been so busy with work lately, I didn't get to edit as fast as I would have liked. This chapter is a little shorter, and a little less fleshed out than I wanted it to be, but hopefully I'll be able to post the third chapter more quickly, sometime over the weekend. Rants, raves, and criticism are **always** welcome!

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Two days had gone by since they'd both been thrown for a loop at the mere sight of each other. He'd had very little time to think about it. She was smart enough to realize that no matter how hard she wished he'd fall off a very steep cliff and land on a few very jagged rocks, it wasn't going to happen. For better or worse, she was stuck, once again, with Scott Barringer. And now that the initial shock of said realization had worn away, she was ready to pick up right where they'd left off. In fact, it was quite impossible to resist. He'd given her the perfect opportunity.

Scott had run the night before. She could have predicted it so easily and even went so far as to gloat inwardly as Peter went off to play hero and the rest of the Cliffhangers gossiped amongst themselves. She could have boasted that she knew he'd take off from the minute his curly blond head came into view in the lodge. She could have made catty little comments to the rest of her group, mocking him to no end while he broke into some unsuspecting civilian's home, throwing lamps and furniture around as if he was a member of an 80's hair metal band, trashing a hotel room, before finally crashing to the floor, wracked with sobs and fear. But she didn't. She said nothing. For once in her life, she kept her mouth shut, that familiar, infinitely bored, bothered look plastered across her face. Shelby Merrick was a lot of things, but a hypocrite wasn't one of them. Well, at least not most of the time. So how could she, in good conscience, publicly mock Scott for running away from Horizon, when all she ever did was run?

The question flew about in her head, causing her ultra confident grin to wane a bit as she sat back on the picnic bench, silently observing Scott's seemingly never ending race across campus, going up stairs and down stairs, in doors and out doors, all within seconds, twisting himself into a human pretzel in order to meet Frank Markazian's demands on time. It was like an endless version of those suicide drills they'd done in their eighth grade gym class, but anything was better than doing her biology homework, and listening to Juliette blather on and on about mitosis. Tracing her eraser along the edge of the table, Shelby quickly adverted her eyes as she noticed Scott coming towards the table, biting down on her tongue, hard, as she felt a crimson blush creeping up her neck, threatening to invade her cheeks. She hoped he hadn't seen her staring. The last thing she wanted was him mistaking her boredom for something more, further inflating his already overpowering ego.

Luckily for her, he didn't, and proceeded to ignore her, asking the rest of the collective group where he could find this, that, and the other thing. Feeling her face cool, she removed her hands from her cheeks and pasted the confident smile back on, tapping her index finger against her chin, appearing deep in thought. "Poor Scotty, you should have listened to Peter's little spiel about heading over the hills and through the woods. Where exactly did you think you were going, your highness, the Four Seasons?"

Scott swallowed, his heart thumping out of his chest, his breathing so labored that he couldn't decide whether he needed to inhale or exhale. Sweat trickled down his chest, his arms, his legs, seeming to engulf his entire body, tell tale signs seeping through his blue shirt. He was exhausted, and had never felt so out of shape in his entire life. He'd effectively gone from being a Mercedes-Benz to a broken down Pinto. And the last thing this broken down Pinto wanted to hear was lip from the ultimate in broken down, used cars, Shelby Merrick.

"Shut your mouth," he wheezed, pushing up his long, baggy sleeves, wiping his mouth with the backside of his tanned arm. "I don't remember asking for your opinion."

"Free country, remember Barringer. Or did you really pay some 401k nerds to ace your American History exams for you? What an eyesore on your nearly flawless record," Shelby sighed, raising her pinky to her mouth in a mix of mock shock and sympathy.

"Don't speak to me unless I speak to you, skank."

Before, she'd been blushing. Now, her entire face hardened, an icy glare replacing her self-assured smirk. Her fists clenched and her insides were boiling, in a state of anarchy, threatening to spill inner turmoil over into outward actions. Her jaw set in a stony line; she could feel the Cliffhangers eyes on her, their pupils burning her skin as they waited in suspenseful silence. Her own slate blue eyes bored into his, blue like hers, but many shades lighter, like angry daggers. She searched her conscious for a quick comeback, an easy quip that would fool him into thinking he hadn't gotten to her.

"You don't know anything about me."

Shelby's voice came out in a low, shaking hiss, and she immediately bit down on the side of her mouth. It wasn't the nonchalant, "I-could-give-a-shit," attitude she'd wanted so badly to convey. She'd sounded weak, wounded, vulnerable. _Jesus Christ, and he knows it._

Scott's face said it all. He was smirking at her, his lips set in a thin smile, his eyes laughing. She'd seen the look before, directed at her, at her friends, at everyone who Mr. Superstar Big Shot believed to be below him, as he strolled down the halls, his gaggle of groupies, both male and female, following him like eager puppies. "I know you got up close and personal with the entire football team – and the assistant coach."

His voice was taunting and his words hung in the air over her head. She heard Juliette giggle, clapping a pale hand over her mouth, eyes wide, almost gleeful. Shelby wanted to smack her clean through her skull, but she was frozen in place. Under the picnic table, her hands began shaking, and mentally she willed herself to remain under control, to retain whatever ounce of dignity she had left. She couldn't let him hold all of the cards, she couldn't let him win. But her luck was working against her, her brain, normally in overdrive, brimming with ideas, seemed to be shut off. He was shutting her down with each word, each new syllable.

"I didn't with you."

He was making her weak. She was weak. He was laughing, out loud this time. He was laughing at her, making a fool out of her, and she was just sitting there, still frozen. God, what was happening?

"Of course you didn't, I was the only one on the team **that** wasn't that desperate. In case you haven't noticed, Merrick, I have no trouble finding a date. Or two."

"Don't flatter yourself, I never wanted you."

"Is that what you told Mark?" Scott asked, placing his index finger and thumb to his chin, appearing deep in thought. "What about Brad? Alex? Trent?"

He was laughing again, harder this time, as he ticked off his former teammate's names on his fingertips, each one creating a fresh wound, a new void in her heart. Her nerves were growing shorter and shorter, and she was biting down on her tongue so hard she was just waiting to taste blood. Her throat was aching, pain searing as she held in sobs, tears that would never, ever reach her eyelids, much less tumble down her cheeks. Clenching her fists even more tightly, she stood up, forcing her legs to stop wobbling beneath her, shoes sinking into the slightly soggy vegetation. "I'm the desperate one? Seems like you keep up with my activities pretty well, Barringer. It's actually pretty creepy if you ask me. So for your reputations sake, keep your nose out of my business."

Scott found the way Shelby was acting utterly amusing. He'd never seen her so baffled, so out of her element. For perhaps the first time ever, she was at a loss for words, scrambling in complete desperation. It seemed the harder she tried, the more she failed, miserably. And he was enjoying it, milking the situation for all it was worth. "Well Merrick, I'll make a deal with you" Scott replied, solemn, looking very innocent, much like the church altar boy he was, once upon a time. "I'll keep my nose out of your business, when you can keep your hands out of the receiving corps pants," he continued, holding back laughter, extending his hand to her. "This deal will expire when pigs fly."

Her face was still emotionless, and she ignored his extended hand. But inside, she was hurting. If she were a different girl, she might have broken down, hoping her tears would bring pity, and the accusations and insults would subside. Hoping he'd leave her alone in favor of doing his various assigned chores. God, what did he know? What did he know about her life, about her hell? He lived in a perfect world, he lived a charmed life. He lived in a big house, drove a flashy car, had an endless supply of money and adulation from an adoring father, an adoring student body. And what did she have? A father who couldn't deal with her, a mother who chose to be completely oblivious to the completely obvious, a sister whom she'd sacrifice herself to protect, and a monster who lived neither in her dreams, or her closet, but in her reality.

Night and day.

But she had to be strong. She wasn't a different girl, and she wasn't going to break down, hoping for some pity party. She'd weathered far worse than taunts from a sheltered, spoiled brat. So she quickly built her walls up, pooling together all her energy and all of her emotional strength – well, what was left of it, anyway. Stepping over the picnic bench, she stepped towards him until there were only inches separating them.

When she spoke, her voice was calm, but her tone spewed venom. "One thing I'd like you to remember, I'm a human being so _speak to me like one._"

And in that instant she was off, stalking away from him, away from the humiliation, leaving her biology homework behind, a mere afterthought.

He tried to smile. He tried to laugh. But he couldn't. He'd seen something in her eyes, for the briefest of moments before she whirled around in a flurry of long blonde hair and powder pink fabric, that gave him pause. What it was, he couldn't be sure, but it was familiar. Familiar and painful, to the point that he felt as he had the last time he'd been sacked by a two hundred seventy pound defensive tackle – like he'd had the wind, and everything else, knocked out of him.

And so all he could manage was a half-hearted chuckle before mumbling something about getting back to his duties, backing away from the picnic table, and breaking into a run, leaving the rest of the Cliffhangers flabbergasted.

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Like I said, it was a little shorter than I wanted it to be, and I'm sorry about that. I'm shooting for Chapter 3 by Saturday night. R&R please!


	3. kayaks and perfect timing

Same Hate To Love You, just updated and revamped. I'll be posting the first eight chapters as I edit them, and then I'll finally be updating with new chapters after that. If you were a fan of this fic the first time around (I started writing it in 2001), I hope you like the changes. I'd like to think I've become a much better writer since then. If you've never read it, and this is your first exposure, I hope you'll enjoy it now.

This is kind of an AU – same Cliffhangers, same issues. The only difference? Scott and Shelby went to school together, from kindergarten, onward. Their issues are still the same, and woven into that fabric. It shouldn't be too hard to follow, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask! And as always, reviews (good, bad, indifferent) are appreciated ;)

Authors Note: Thanks so much for all your reviews, and I'm sorry I didn't get this up on Saturday, but I had to work all weekend  I'm going to try to start working on editing the next chapter tonight, and I'll try to get it up by the end of the week. Oh, and this chapter was slightly inspired by a cheesy paperback romance I'd been reading when I originally wrote the story. I changed around the dialogue more this time around to avoid being a blatant plagiarist  Hope you enjoy this chapter!

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Competition.

They both thrived upon it, one perhaps more obvious than the other. She lived with an invisible chip on her shoulder, constantly at odds with herself, with her multiple scars. She felt as if she had something to prove, that if she could achieve x, y, and z, that her past transgressions, hidden within the deepest recesses of her rapidly crumbling soul, could be brushed aside in the grand scheme of things. Her battle was primarily internal, exclamations of joy or frustration few and far between. He, on the other hand, hid nothing. The typical alpha male, he was a star athlete, a star scholar, a star human being. He did always excelled no matter what the task, because, well, that was the way things were done. That was the way he'd been brought up, that was the attitude his parents had instilled within him at a young age. The same attitude his father saw slipping away within the past few months, giving way to an air of unconcerned indifference. So what if he was a little late for practice? So what if he fumbled the ball? So what if he failed that history test, neglected that bio lab assignment, ignored his research paper? So what? Who cares? No big deal! But outward assumptions aside, his desire to be the best, while suppressed slightly, in the wake of those night time visits to his bedroom, was far from dead. He still wanted to compete. He still wanted to be the fastest, the strongest, the smartest.

Internal, external.

Shelby Merrick, Scott Barringer.

The small classroom was bustling as students slammed textbooks closed, slipping spiral notebooks under their elbows, pencils and pens returned to backpack pockets. They chatted amongst themselves as the educational part of the program came to a close, and the weekend began. Granted they couldn't spend their two glorious "days off" hanging out at the movies, or the mall, but weekends at Horizon were always looked forward to nonetheless, peppered with more free time and occasional parental visits, a blessing or a curse, depending on the individual.

Hannah circled the room, a stack of papers in her hands growing thinner, bestowing another version of a blessing or curse amongst her biology students. Chatter turned to grumbles of injustice, moans of failure, satisfied silence, and even a few excited shrieks, depending on how many, or how few red marks, and small frowning faces peppered their stapled exams. The students mixed emotions swelled into a dull roar, spilling from the classroom to the hallway as they made their exits, still flipping through the pages, eyes feverishly scanning for any miscues, any mistake in their corrections.

The class had thinned out significantly as Hannah paused in front of Scott, a genuine smile crossing her face as she handed him his packet, then reached directly behind him, allowing Shelby to accept her own. "Good work, both of you," Hannah commented, continuing on her way, bestowing the rest of the tests upon their rightful recipients. Unable to stop herself, she glanced over her shoulder at Shelby, who intently observing her mistake free paper, fighting off a smile. Shaking her head slightly, Hannah's own smile broadened a bit. She was so proud of Shelby; the improvement in her schoolwork over the past month alone had been phenomenal. She was such a bright girl, and given the opportunity, she was sure she could do great things, practically anything she set her mind to -- if only she could conquer her demons, whatever they were.

Gathering her things from her desk, Hannah sighed inwardly. Nearly three months into her stay, and no sign of why those deep blue eyes were so empty, so devoid of any emotion. No doubt about it, Shelby was one of the toughest kids they'd had in a long time. She was only sixteen, but lived on the streets for an entire year before coming to Horizon, with several shorter stints before that, beginning when she was just barely fourteen years old. Looking into those eyes, Hannah was almost afraid to fathom what she'd been running from. Living on the streets, however, had toughened her up, no doubt lending to her "I-can-take-anything-you-throw-at-me-attitude," and perhaps even her flirtatious banter with anyone on campus who carried a Y chromosome.

_Well, excluding Ezra_, she thought to herself with a chuckle, watching the last few students pack up, before heading towards Peter's office.

Still seated, his exam face down on his desk, Scott leaned back slightly in his chair, craning his neck to look at Shelby. Along with his arrogant, trademark smirk, an undeniable air of victory surrounded him. It was absolutely infuriating.

"So skank, survey says?"

"Perfection." After weeks of the "skank" treatment, she'd learned to ignore the derogatory nickname, even if it did make her stomach churn.

His smirk widened, as if it were at all possible, as he slowly trailed his fingers over the paper, dragging it off the desk. Picking it up between his fingertips, he allowed it to swing back and forth slightly in front of her face.

A big, red, 101, followed by an even bigger red happy face.

Shelby gritted her teeth, her own 100 somehow seeming far less superior. Damn extra credit. Who knew the youngest US president ever elected was actually Theodore Roosevelt? JFK had looked young enough to her, and besides, this was biology, as opposed to US History, correct?

"Get out of my face"

"What's wrong, Merrick? I wouldn't detect any jealousy, would I?"

Shelby made a face. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Nothing would bring me more pleasure".

Shelby fought back laughter, tucking her exam between the pages of her notebook. Tossing her pen into her messenger bag, she stood up, cocking an eyebrow at Scott, glancing at him over her shoulder as she retreated towards the door. "Really? Seriously? That's pretty sad."

Scott rolled his eyes, as she disappeared around the corner; he forced himself to give her a point on their invisible scoreboard. After their first exchange, in which he'd undoubtedly been the victor, Shelby had managed to pull about even. Unfortunately for him, her moment of weakness had been short-lived, and she'd reverted back to her own atom-bomb-safe concrete castle. Behind those walls, it didn't seem to matter how many demeaning names he called her, how many times he'd insulted her intelligence, how many times he'd brought up her unsavory past. She wouldn't break, and try as he might, he couldn't forget that look in her eyes.

That look. Damnit, what was that look? It frightened him, it scared him, and it was all too familiar, but christ, he couldn't put his finger on it. He shouldn't have cared, he should have just forgotten about it, but it was plaguing him like a….

"Scott? Earth to Scott?"

He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. Yes, Scott, he was Scott. That voice. Oh, right, back to reality, Barringer. Who was it again? Oh, yeah, Juliette.

Juliette Waybourne. Former homecoming queen, the product of good lineage marrying into better lineage, and then even better lineage, and then better still, until mommy dearest was searching for husband number five, carting along impressive settlements from her previous betrothed, and her offspring was puking up her pricy dinner in a private bathroom at a notable New York City restaurant in her quest to maintain perfection via declining numbers on a digital god known as the scale.

They'd started dating about a week before, if you could even attach the "dating" tag to a Horizon relationship. She'd pursued him relentlessly, her sweet smile and good natured personality finally convincing him to take the bait. She was cute and naïve and Scott didn't know a thing about her, save the flavor lipgloss she wore. Strawberry, by the way; both boring, and predictable. But that was fine; he could work with boring, predictable, and an overwhelming dose of perky innocence. Perky innocents, he'd learned, didn't ask very many questions – they didn't poke or prod or try to get deep. The last thing Scott Barringer wanted to do was get deep, period.

Deep was risky. Juliette was safe.

It made sense.

Shaking himself out of his haze, Scott forced a smile, nearly looking through her as she gazed down at him, beaming. Fingers curling around the edge of his desk, he grabbed his notes, cramming his test between pages, the red ink smiley face crumpling, unable to stand up to the force. Rising to his feet, he was still for a moment, holding his books in front of him, before placing them back on the desk. His hands moved to the pockets of his worn jeans and he rocked back and forth heel to toe, heel to toe. Glancing over Juliette's shoulder, he peered out into the hall.

"I wanna talk to you about something," he began shortly, his facial expression fairly blank. Crossing behind her, he moved to the back of the classroom, poking his head out the door, looking down one end of the hallway, and then the other, quickly pulling the door closed.

"Talk, huh? Scott, you're such a bad liar."

She giggled and he grinned, slipping his arms around her tiny waist, allowing them to move up and down her back as their lips began to play, what were quickly becoming, familiar games. Her hair tangled in his digits and their bodies edged closer and closer together. Yet as close as they were, Scott was almost completely detached.

It wasn't Juliette. She hadn't done anything to make him disinterested, to turn him off. Granted she wasn't the most experienced girl – he wasn't about to slide his hand up the back of her striped turtleneck – but she was more than adequate. But to put himself, emotionally, into any kind of intimate situation, was dangerous. He'd learned more than once at home to disassociate when he was with a girl – there had been too many close calls, too many instances where he'd had to fashion excuses, under pressure, after he'd verbally lashed out at a poor, unsuspecting victim.

"_Haha, just kidding. Did you really think I was crazy? You should have seen your face!"_

They'd laugh, move back in to continue what they'd started, and he'd allow his mind to hover high above the situation, completely removed from the experience, and his hormone driven body. He'd think about football, about what he'd eaten for dinner the night before, about that crack in the ceiling – about anything but the girl beneath him.

If only they knew.

If only she knew.

If only…

"AHEM!"

Crashing back down to earth, Scott immediately pulled away from Juliette, wide eyed as Peter leaned against the doorframe. Wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, his mind raced for an excuse that would save him from more manual labor – the soreness from Frank's last round weeks before was just beginning to dissipate – or some sort of essay on the consequences of safe sex: sexually transmitted diseases, pregnancy and the like. Clearing his throat, he leaned back against a desk, crossing his arms casually at his waist, opposing hands supporting his elbows.

"So, uh, was there something you wanted, Peter?"

Shaking his head, he made nothing of Scott's absolutely terrible attempt at feigning nonchalance, grabbing the teenager by the shirt and hauling him out of the room, leaving Juliette to quietly gather her things and exit through the classroom's front door undetected.

Once out in the hallway, Peter released Scott back against the wall, nodding slightly.

"Normally, at any other time, under any other circumstances, you'd be on restriction, chopping more wood than the Brawny paper towel guy," he began, "but consider me your savior for the day. And since I'm saving your butt, I'm going to need a favor in return. You ever heard of the X-Challenge?"

Scott shrugged. "That thing Kate was talking about? What, does it have to do with the Special Olympics, or something? Look, Peter, I don't do that stuff. I'd rather climb trees or chop down trees or whatever you guys do for fun up here … "

"It isn't the Special Olympics, though if it were, I'd expect you to be a little more enthusiastic. Helping people less fortunate than yourself might be a little eye opening, Scott," Peter explained, sounding a bit exasperated. "No, this is something right up your alley, one solid day of physical competition --- mountain biking, kayaking, foot races through the woods --- people come from all around the country to compete."

Scott smiled a bit, contemplating the idea. "That doesn't sound so bad – yeah, sign me up."

"Great! With you as team captain, we'll have no problem beating those jerks from Laurence Hastings…"

"Wait," Scott fired back immediately, his face darkening. "Team captain? What team?"

"The Cliffhangers, Scott. Kat was going to be your captain, but her actions as of late have prevented her from fulfilling her duties," Peter explained. "So you," he continued, giving Scott a few solid pats on the back, grinning widely "are their new leader!"

"No," Scott exclaimed, backing away from Peter, his mouth hanging open. "Uh-uh, no way, Peter, this is never going to happen! Do you hear me? I can't work with those losers, they're totally hopeless! No way, never, not happening, Peter. NOT HAPPENING!"

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"Go get em, captain!"

It was just past eleven on a beautiful Saturday morning. Birds chirped happily, and a slight breeze rippled through the surrounding trees as the glowing sun shone down on the brilliantly sparkling lake. The entire scene was just so picturesque, like something out of a travel brochure, or a "Wish You Were Here!" post card. However, despite the sunny skies, not everyone was feeling so chipper.

Since he learned of his promotion to team captain the previous afternoon, Scott had been acting very much like a spoiled toddler, stomping his feet, slamming doors, and pouting incessantly. He'd given everyone the silent treatment all through breakfast, and continued the trend during the hike to the lake. Thus, as it was, Peter's form of encouragement was hardly appreciated, and Scott responded to his comment with a scathing "go-to-heck" look, his protruding lower lip drawing back for just a moment to accommodate a scowl that complimented his menacing glare. Tossing his hooded sweatshirt to the ground, tugging at the end of his sky blue t-shirt, he slipped into his assigned kayak, grabbing his paddle, blue eyes shooting daggers at the shimmering water.

Two kayaks away Shelby adjusted her helmet, smirking at Scott's juvenile performance, observing his crossed arms and defiant stance. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Juliette peering over at him as well, looking sad and confused. Girlfriend or not, to him she was just more dead weight on the team, another loser who wouldn't be able to pick up the slack, and so she too was subject to the same cold glare, the same deafening silence. It made Shelby want to vomit right along with Miss Bulimia USA. Juliette wasn't Shelby's favorite – in fact, more often than not, she wanted to slap her, if only to shut her up for just a few moments. But still, even _she_ was above the egomaniac that was Scott Barringer, and she almost felt bad that he was being so cruel to her. After all, Shelby knew all too well what it was like to be on his shit list.

Still, she couldn't resist a little "friendly" competition.

"Ready to get your ass kicked, Barringer?" she questioned after glancing over her shoulder, making sure Peter was out of earshot.

Scott almost burst into laughter, finally showing some form of emotion that wasn't pure rage. Instantly, he was alive, his eyes sparkling at the mere mention of competition. "You? Beat me? Funny, Merrick. Really, hilariously funny."

"Yeah, we'll see!"

Peter blew his whistle and Shelby jammed one side of her paddle down in the water beginning to move out as best she could. Triumph surged through her quickly, as she effortlessly moved ahead of the other Cliffhangers, still trying to find their bearings. But after sitting idly, watching his "teammates" feeble attempts to work with their paddles, Scott quickly moved into action, catching up to and then quickly moving ahead of Shelby.

"You were saying?" he called back smugly, though he didn't turn around, his muscular arms working overtime, paddle moving up and down, side to side, digging deep as his boat cut through the silent, still water.

Shelby glared at him as he circled back towards the edge of the lake, turning herself around as well, beginning to pour on to the point that her arms burned, crying for relief , when she noticed his now leisurely pace. Coming up almost even beside him, she smiled sweetly at his back, before once more digging deep with her paddle, then bringing it up quickly at an angle, sending water splashing right over Scott's head.

Laughing, she allowed herself to float away a bit, enjoying the show from a safer distance. "Oh, gosh, silly me, I'm so clumsy! Sorry about that!"

Scott's mouth dropped open, as rivulets dripped down his face, past his chin, the drops eventually ending their descent as they soaked into his already water speckled shirt. He didn't need to say a word, it was clear that he was beyond stunned, just sitting there, drifting in his boat for a moment in stupefied silence. He wasn't at all surprised at the complete lack of sincerity behind her apology was the fact that she'd been ballsy enough to do it in the first place was downright shocking

"Oh, you're gonna pay Merrick! Boy, oh boy, are you gonna pay!"

And with that, Scott sprung into action, leveling his own paddle at just the right angle, sending a wave of water crashing down over Shelby's head. He heard her shriek, a loud, girlish shriek, as the cold water hit her skin. Completely unfazed, Scott laughed harder, his open mouthed grin so wide his cheeks ached. If he wasn't floating on the open water, he would have collapsed, literally rolling on the floor, roaring with laughter.

Shelby, however, was hardly amused.

"THIS IS WAR!"

And so it was, as Shelby attempted to splash Scott once more. But her hasty move didn't work out as planned. Her aim completely off, the offending wave of liquid hit not Scott, but Ezra, who'd wiggled up between them somehow. The water knocked his already too big helmet down over Ezra's eyes, as he continued to teeter in the water.

"Help me!"

But Ezra's plea was ignored as Scott and Shelby continued their own little water war on either side of him. Now joining in the laughter, Shelby swung her paddle at Scott, nearly missing his head. In retaliation, Scott pulled back on his oar, preparing to give Shelby's kayak one good, hard jab, hard enough to send her flipping into the water. He could already envision it, like a clear DVD playing over and over in his head. The very thought made him laugh out loud. God, it'd be beautiful -- a water fight knock-out, of sorts. However, like Shelby before him, Scott's plan didn't play out as he'd envisioned, and Ezra was left to play the hapless victim.

Scott's own laughter would lead to his demise, for it had caused his own kayak to teeter precariously, just as he moved his paddle forward to topple Shelby's, hopefully sending her flying into the lake. Instead, the oar, and all the force behind it, jammed into the side of Ezra's kayak, a gaping hole appearing half above the waterline. Ezra, his helmet still half over his eyes, looked panicked as his kayak quickly began to take on water, sinking faster than the Titanic.

"HELP ME!" he screamed, limbs thrashing about wildly in the water, even though his black and blue lifejacket was serving its purpose, keeping him afloat as his kayak disappeared beneath the surface.

"Scott! Shelby! What the _hell_ are you doing!"

Scott and Shelby, both dripping wet, exchanged glances, and began rowing back towards the shore, as Juliette and Auggie helped a disoriented Ezra out of the four feet of water.

Red faced, the duo quickly climbed out of their kayaks, coming face to face with a clearly enraged Peter. The older man stared at the two for what seemed like hours, searching for a way to discipline them that didn't involve the use of four letter expletives, his face turning an ugly purplish shade.

Shelby silently hoped he'd taken some kind of blood pressure medication.

Scott wondered if it was legitimately possible that a human being could explode.

"I think you both need to take a time-out," Peter finally remedied, still clearly trying to keep his cool. "There's a clearing down the path, to your right. I want you to go there, and think long and hard about what it means to be a part of a team. You can each use those thoughts to write a thousand word essay on teamwork when you get back to campus. When you've got enough insight, and you're ready to act your age, you're welcome to rejoin the group. Get going."

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The clearing was beautiful, covered in a thick blanket of grass, wildflowers popping up around rocks in small clusters. Sun filtered in through the trees, shining against tanned, water spotted skin as they plopped down about twenty-five feet away from each other. He leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the small patch of blue, visible beyond the treetops. She sat against a rock, closing her eyes, allowing the sun to dry her clothes and warm her skin. They remained this way for a few moments, one pretending as if the other wasn't there, until the tension grew so thick, he could no longer just keep to himself.

"Peter really lost his temper back their, huh?" Scott offered, glancing over at her, his normally cocky, self-assured voice coming off a bit awkward.

"Yeah," Shelby commented, looking down at her feet, twisting a long, soft blade of grass tightly around her finger before letting it go, looking at the small imprints it left against her skin. Slowly, however, she looked over at him, her lips forming a small smile. "But you have to admit, we _are_ pretty annoying."

Scott looked offended. "Speak for yourself, Merrick. You're the one who got us into this! I should make you write my stupid essay, but then again, we all know I'm the sharper tool in the shed."

"Yeah, you're a tool alright," Shelby cracked, smirking at him. "And besides, it was totally an accident."

Shaking his head, he cursed himself for opening the door for insult, but refused to comment on it. "Right, just like you accidentally tripped me on the playground in first grade," Scott shot back.

Shelby frowned slightly, searching her childhood memories. Had she really tripped him on the playground? Oh, right! Ok, so she had, but he'd stolen her swing _and_ pulled her hair. He'd totally deserved it! "Well fine, if you want to talk ancient 'accidents', we can always bring up the biggest accident of all-time. You know, freshman year, you were sitting on the bleachers – the cheerleaders were tickling you and you couldn't control …"

"I couldn't help it, that was totally an accident!" Scott exclaimed, his face flaming as he remembered the pant-wetting incident. He was sure everyone had forgotten it by now. "I can't help it that I'm ticklish!" he continued, crossing his arms defensively, resisting the urge to resume his pouting.

Shaking her head at his bright red face, Shelby let a "tsk tsk" sound escape her lips. "Come on, Barringer. We're not playing with fingerpaint, you should be able to control your bladder. Or do you need GoodNites? GoodNites mean good mornings!" she sang playfully, still smirking.

Scott made a face at her, feeling wounded. He wasn't used to being ganged up on like this, at least not anymore. Most people were too afraid of him to tell him the truth, or remind him of anything remotely uncool. Even his own friends walked on eggshells around him. Painful as the ego bruising was, the roast was kind of refreshing. Glancing over at Shelby, who was still chuckling, something switched within him. For the first time in a long time, he was feeling playful, almost happy.

He had nothing to lose, so he went for it.

Crawling across the grass towards Shelby, he smirked, wiggling his fingers as he approached. She hesitated to react for just a moment, and that was all the time Scott needed. Grabbing her arm playfully, he pulled her away from the rock towards him, beginning to tickle her, showing no mercy as she shrieked and writhed, trying to wriggle away from him

"Scott, s-s-st-stop!" she managed through her laughter. "Oh my God, s-s-s-ssstop!"

His laughter echoed through the clearing as he continued his assault "You should be able to control your bladder!" Scott mocked, good natured.

"I am! I haven't peed on you yet! Come on," Shelby breathed, wiggling around slightly without much success. The truth, though she'd never admit it, was that she was enjoying it a little bit. Perhaps more than a little, but she didn't want to push it. For the first time in a long time, she was having fun with Scott Barringer. It was almost just the way it was before they hit high school, before he got too cool to hang out with the likes of her, before he replaced "Shelby" with "skank" and "slut"

"Not until you surrender!" Scott bargained, raising his eyebrows up and down

"NEVER!"

"Fine then. I don't stop" Scott laughed, tickling the back of her neck.

"Okay! _Okay_! I surrender!"

Out of breath, she stopped fighting against him and allowed her back to collapse onto the ground. Their laughter began to subside and she felt his hand relax on the back of her neck. For a moment, after their last few chuckles subsided, there was complete silence. Looking up at him, she noticed his eyes flash from playful, to serious, and she felt his body shift slowly, leaning forward towards her. Alarm bells were going off in her head, her mind screaming. She couldn't move, hell, she could barely think. Was he going to kiss her? Oh, God, he was going to kiss her. Normally the mere thought would make her completely nauseated, but right then, at that moment, she wanted him to. God, she wanted him to. She closed her eyes, tilting her head forward in anticipation. She could feel his breath on her face, his lips were just inches from hers..

"Hey, you two!"

They both sat up so fast their heads slammed together. Not looking at one another, they both attempted to straighten themselves up, clearing their throats, eyes fixed on the ground.

Peter.

Reality.

Times up, game over!

Holy shit, what almost just happened?

"You two can come back now. We're all packed up and ready to go"

"Coming," Shelby said quickly, brushing herself off, trying to assume an air of indifference. Tugging at the sleeves of her shirt she hastily walked across the clearing, towards Peter, and Scott, who'd just peeled himself from his place on the ground. As she passed him, she could hear Scott muttering under his breath.

"Perfect timing."

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R&R, please! I'd really love to hear your opinions. What do you like? What don't you like? Where do you think I can improve? Is there anything specific you'd like to see happen? Hit me with your best shot ;)


	4. hey, jealousy

Same Hate To Love You, just updated and revamped. I'll be posting the first eight chapters as I edit them, and then I'll finally be updating with new chapters after that. If you were a fan of this fic the first time around (I started writing it in 2001), I hope you like the changes. I'd like to think I've become a much better writer since then. If you've never read it, and this is your first exposure, I hope you'll enjoy it now.

This is kind of an AU – same Cliffhangers, same issues. The only difference? Scott and Shelby went to school together, from kindergarten, onward. Their issues are still the same, and woven into that fabric. It shouldn't be too hard to follow, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask! And as always, reviews (good, bad, indifferent) are appreciated ;)

**Authors Note**: Thanks so much for all your reviews, I really do like hearing what you think and what you'd like to see. There are going to be some original characters thrown into the mix to spice things up and keep things interesting, starting with one in this chapter. Finally. I'm _so_ sorry I didn't get this up sooner, but things have been crazy with work and school. I've already started editing the next chapter so hopefully you guys won't have to wait as long for that one. Hope you enjoy!

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The Cliffhangers were all sitting around one of the many picnic tables scattered across the lawn, eating their dinner in relative silence. After competing in the X-Challenge earlier in the day, _and_ holding up their end of Peter's bet, serving their counterparts from the chi-chi Lawrence Hastings, the entire group was fairly exhausted. As evidenced by their indentured servitude, the day had not gone as Peter planned. Despite his essay on the importance of teamwork, Scott had become frustrated with his group's inability to keep up with his feverish pace, and he'd left them behind to cross the finish line alone. Meanwhile, the rest of the Cliffhangers, tired and lost, stumbled aimlessly through the woods until Auggie injured his ankle, forcing them to take an extended break. Eventually, Scott would come back to apologize and the entire group would cross the line, dead last, but together nonetheless.

The sound of chirping crickets mixed with laughter and music, floating effortlessly through the air around them. The inky black sky was dotted with what seemed like billions of shimmering stars, scattered as if they'd been spilled from a cup. The Rocky Mountains rose high and proud in the distance, their peaks visible thanks to the bright light of a full moon. In the midst of the beautiful scenery, Scott caught Shelby's eye across the table, his face glowing in the candlelight, and she quickly looked away.

She'd been avoiding him at all costs following their incident in the clearing. Of course, it hadn't been hard to stay away from him that day, what, with him abandoning the whole team, peddling off like he was king of the mountain as the rest of the Cliffhangers cursed his retreating back. But the fact of the matter was, she'd been uncharacteristically quiet the entire week they'd been preparing. Her mind raced with a million different questions, all jumbling together to the point that she wanted to grab her hair in both hands and scream at the top of her lungs.

_What happened out there? What **could** have happened? What did he mean by 'perfect timing'? Was he being serious, like, 'Whoa, lapse in judgment! Thank fucking God we didn't kiss?' Or was he being sarcastic and saying, 'You have some fucked up timing Peter, I really wanted to kiss her'?_ _Is he avoiding me? Should I avoid him? Crap, he just caught me staring! What is he thinking? _

As Shelby picked at her food, pushing the unusually tasty contents of the dinner menu around her plate, the thoughts and questions continued to swirl about in her head with reckless abandon.

_What was wrong with me? Did I lose my mind for a minute, thinking I wanted to kiss Scott Barringer? The same Scott Barringer I've despised all these years? Did I actually want to kiss him? Why would I want to kiss him? Today just proves he's a total jackass! Ok, yeah, so he came back, but … _

"Hey, Shel, you all right?".

"Huh?" Thrown from her thoughts, Shelby remembered one of the few things she hated about Horizon. Third on the list, after the lack of cigarettes and coffee, was the fact that she could never seen to scrounge up a moment of privacy. She wasn't used to people worrying about her feelings. Because of that, responding to concern had never been her strong point. Sitting up a little straighter, she glanced over at Kat, the source of the inquiry who'd just taken a seat next to her. Blinking and forcing a forkful of beans into her mouth, she chewed and nodded, by no means in the mood for any kind of small talk.

"You've been kind of out of it" Katherine pressed on, looking at Shelby curiously

Sighing inwardly, she realized Kate wasn't going to let it go. "I'm just tired, that's all," Shelby said stiffly, her voice sounding more irritated than she'd meant it to be. Sighing again, she decided she should backpedal a bit. She didn't really have anything against Katherine, but she was hardly in the mood. "Look, I didn't mean to snap, but I don't want to do this right now," she explained shortly. Swinging her legs over the bench she stood up and walked away, leaving her full plate, and a confused Katherine at the picnic table.

Scott watched her walk off, but said nothing.

Shelby headed towards the steps of the lodge, trying to get as far away from everyone as she possibly could. The music, the laughing, the questions – she frankly didn't want to be put in this situation unless she was provided a joint and least a couple of beers. Ok, so she didn't really need those things, but they'd help at the moment. Or maybe just a little sleep. Yeah, sleep sounded good! No one would even notice she turned in. Right, as if she could sleep when her mind was on overdrive, suffering from some kind of emotional sensory overload.

Grunting in frustration she grabbed two handfuls of blonde hair, burying her head in her knees. _Why are you even stressing about this, Shelby! It was temporary insanity, plain and simple_

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Shelby's head snapped up immediately, as she noticed a figure walking towards her. Visible under the light, he was young; tall, kind of skinny in that long, lanky way, with shaggy brown hair hanging in equally chocolate brown eyes. Jeans, flannel shirt, tennis shoes – he looked like Horizon material, yet he didn't look at all familiar. Perhaps he was a dressed down preppy for Lawrence Hastings. No, couldn't be. She'd learned in her seduction of many a rich boy, that "dressed down" for Lawrence Hastings set was a Lacoste Polo and Brooks Brothers khakis. "Who are you?" Shelby asked finally, her voice defensive.

He laughed at her tone without hesitation. He had a warm laugh, the kind that only came out when you didn't hold anything back. "I'm not a psycho or anything," he said, as if that would explain it all. When she continued to look at him blankly, he pressed on, extending a hand in her direction. "I'm Craig. Craig Lynch. Resident Tracker newbie."

Shelby nodded at his hand, but didn't shake it. Yes, he was Craig, Craig Lynch. And she should care … why, exactly? She was silent for a few moments, still waiting for him to get the hint. Was it too much to ask that she be left alone for all of thirty seconds? After staring at him for a few seconds more, she realized the answer was apparently a resounding yes. Giving up on her short-lived quest solitude, she sighed and pulled her knees to her chest. "I'm Shelby--"

"Merrick" Craig finished for her

Shelby cocked an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "What, are you a stalker or something? Did you break into Peter's office and check out my file? That'd be oh so ambitious of you."

"Nah, I don't have those kinds of skills. It's just that most of the guys in my group talk, you know? Kind of like gossipy girls. Anyway, they speak very highly of you."

"They would."

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

"Right. Well, uh, anyway, I just noticed you kinda looked a little lonely over here. Maybe a little confused too," he stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking a little shy, a little sheepish. "If you want to talk, I've been told I'm a good listener."

Shelby continued to stare at him, trying to get some kind of read. She'd learned over the past few years that despite all her shortcomings, she was a pretty good judge of character. This Craig seemed fairly sincere, which was always a plus. But she'd only known him for a good minute, so she wasn't going to exactly bare her soul to the guy. "It was nothing, I was just thinking. Silly girl stuff, you know?" she lied.

Craig nodded, as if it was obvious. But the fact was, he didn't know. 'Silly girl stuff' was absolutely foreign to him – he couldn't tell Fendi from Forever 21, but she didn't need to know that. Awkward silence surrounded them, and she waited for him to excuse herself so she could finally have a minute of peace, but he didn't leave. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, looking towards the gazebo where a few kids from Lawrence Hastings had made a makeshift dance floor. "Uh, so, do you want to dance?"

Shelby didn't say anything for a moment. Dancing used to be as natural as breathing. She'd studied ballet for years and some of her instructors insisted she had the goods to become a legitimate ballerina for a well respected company. This was all of course, BW: before Walt. His appearance in her life, and then in her bedroom had effectively squashed all of her childhood dreams. Nowadays, dancing usually reminded her of her happier childhood and the hopes, the opportunities she felt the monster had taken away from her. This usually made her avoid it like the plague, but she needed something to get her mind off Scott. And Craig seemed nice enough.

"Sure, I guess"

And so she followed him out onto the dance floor, letting Craig put his arms around her waist, swaying in time to the music. However, try as she might, she was unable to stop herself from letting her eyes drift over to the Cliffhangers table, where Scott was deep in conversation with Auggie. Shelby tried to ignore him, but with his curly blonde head right over Craig's shoulder, she just couldn't, and the questions began to swirl about in her head once more. She found herself wondering what he would think if he saw her dance with Craig. Would he care? How would he react? Would he be mad? Would he be relieved?

_What's wrong with me! **Absolutely nothing** will ever happen between me and Scott. Its insane just to think about. This is **Scott Barringer**! My enemy from hell! Why should I care what he thinks!_

And so she closed her eyes, resolving to forget all about Scott and focus her attention on Craig, the attractive, possibly interested boy that stood before her. Opening her eyes, she allowed herself to loosen up, limbs flowing as the pace of the music increased. She felt good, solid, and perhaps even a little beautiful – and she could see Craig, and others looking on in impressed admiration as she moved to the beat. Grinning, she spun around, her hands in the air. She was having fun, who needed Scott Barringer? Juliette could totally have him! She'd forgotten all about him…

That is, until he and Juliette joined the group out on the floor, as the heavy dance beats morphed into another slow, sappy ballad. Circling her arms around Craig's neck, she let him pull her closer, cautiously watching the couple out of the corner of her eye. It made her stomach twist and turn in knots. She wanted to throw up, and the fact that Scott Barringer, of all people, was affecting her this much made her feel even more ill. She took a deep breath, tearing her eyes away from them, trying her best to smile at Craig. As he smiled back, Shelby forced herself to quit worrying about all things Scott, and focus on Craig.

But it was easier said than done.

If only she'd felt that spark with Craig, that spark that she'd felt in the clearing with Scott, perhaps everything would be perfect

------------

Lights out had passed hours before. The campus, previously busting with activity – dinner, dancing, and the unforgettable sight of the one and only Peter Scarbrow singing the YMCA – was now dark, silent, and still. However, a pale yellow glow emitted from deep within the Cliffhanger boys dorm. You could blink and miss the beam of the flashlight, performing the duty of a makeshift reading lamp, under the thick confines of a crimson red comforter.

Beneath the comforter, Scott Barringer reclined back against his pillows, unable to sleep. Trying to turn the pages without waking any of his bunkmates, the contraband flashlight was trained on a text his mother had sent him for his last birthday. Along with a long letter, and a USC football jersey, she'd included a book on Greek Philosophers. He'd never read it. In fact, even now, as he looked at the lines of straightforward black typeface, bold against crisp white paper, he couldn't pay attention, he couldn't focus. The words just seemed to swirl into a big mess. A big mess, it was such an apt way to describe his life over the past week or so, and he wasn't even thinking about the whole X-Challenge debacle.

He had a girlfriend, a great girlfriend. Yes, Juliette was a super, great, wonderful girlfriend. She was exactly what he needed at this point in time. She was sweet, happy all the time, didn't ask questions. They held hands and kissed and made puppy dog eyes at each other during group. He cared about her – it was kind of hard not to, what with her always appearing so vulnerable despite her chipper attitude. But instead of feeling a rush of love, or warmth, or any kind of romantic emotion, he felt more protective and possessive. Kind of like the older brother, looking out for his little sister. And the question continued to plague him: if he was so interested in Juliette, why did his mind keep wandering to Shelby?

Shelby, Shelby, Shelby. He hadn't been able to get her off his mind since the incident in the clearing. He had no idea what came over him, but right then, at that moment, he'd _really_ wanted to kiss her. He'd gone over the events in his head, just as he had with highlight reels his father had made after his football games, over, and over, and over again. Was it the way she looked? Was it her laugh? Was it just the close proximity and the heat and the sun? Was he just, for lack of a more eloquent term, horny? No, it couldn't have been that – none of those excuses explained the reason why his blood boiled that night when he looked up from his conversation with Auggie, laughing and smiling, only to have his face darken within seconds when he saw Shelby dancing with another guy. It didn't explain his nearly overwhelming urge to cut in, to take the guy out – to do something, anything to get her away from that loser.

Scott sighed, slamming his book shut, clicking the flashlight off. Still under the covers, in the dark, he ran his hands over his face and through his hair, rubbing at his eyes in frustration.

Life had suddenly gotten even more complicated

------------

She turned to the left, and waited a few moments. She then turned to the right and repeated the same actions, head pressed against the pillow, blankets drawn up to her chin, eyes wide open. Frustrated, she swung her bare feet over the side of the bed, allowing them to lower silently to the wood floor. Sitting there for a moment, upright, Shelby glanced around at the other girls, sleeping peacefully. She should be so lucky. There was just no way around it. Peaceful slumber was oh so evasive, now more than ever. There was way too much going on in her head. Shoving the navy comforter away from her body, she stood up quietly, her movements stealth as she crossed the room, glancing back once or twice to make sure she hadn't disturbed anyone. The last thing she wanted was to be interrogated as to why she was grabbing her jacket to go to the bathroom. Carefully shutting the door behind her, Shelby allowed herself to walk across campus, carrying her towards the docks. Looking at the stars always eased her worried mind and seemed to be a cure-all for insomnia. Not to mention it was one of the few places on campus that she could find a shred of privacy.

However, as soon as she stepped onto the wooden planks, she stopped short. She wasn't alone in her favorite place to hide. A familiar male figure sat, his back to her, legs dangling over the side. Sighing, she walked carefully down the length of the docks, pulling her powder blue hoodie more tightly around her as she crept up behind him. "What are you doing out here?"

Her voice came out in a hushed whisper, but Craig almost jumped out of his skin. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Shelby apologized.

He laughed slightly. "That's okay. I just didn't expect anyone to be out here at 3 AM".

Shelby shrugged. Frankly, she didn't either. And frankly, if he didn't look so cute, she might be a little pissed of at him for ruining the experience for her. But he was, so she wasn't. "That's understandable. Couldn't sleep?"

Craig nodded. "Yeah." He paused for a moment, hesitant as to whether or not he should continue on. "Even though it sounds dumb, I'm kind of … homesick."

He was blushing, she could tell even in the dark. It made her smile, that hint of vulnerability, that uncertainty. God, he was cute. Totally different from the blonde haired, blue eyed, uber-jock Scott Barringer look, but eye-candy nonetheless. "What are you homesick for?"

"My father"

Shelby nodded, not sure what to say. It wasn't as if she could relate, or launch into a story about how much she missed her father and all of the super-duper things they used to do together. Her step-father was absolutely out of the question, and her biological father simply couldn't deal with her, so he'd dumped her off at Horizon. Now she was someone else's problem. Yeah, real stand-up guys. "Oh, you're really close?"

Craig nodded. "Yeah. We hung out a lot together, well, before Matt died. Matt … my twin brother. He died in a car accident a couple years back."

He looked away as soon as he mentioned his brother's name the first time, and she heard a distinctive break, a crack in his voice the second. Shelby put her hand on his, the gesture more surprising to her than it was to him. "I'm sorry, I know you probably don't want to bring that up. We don't have to talk him." When Craig didn't respond, just nodding slightly, she bit on her lip and contemplated changing the subject. "So … what kind of stuff did you do with your dad?"

"We liked to hunt … mostly deer, but sometimes geese. Not competitive, you know, just for fun. My grandpa did it with my dad … I guess you could call it a family tradition."

Shelby's jaw almost dropped to the ground. She could be tough about a lot of things, but little furry animals weren't among them. She'd remembered seeing deer the first time at Horizon, just watching a family gracefully run towards the woods, wondering how anyone could be so cold as to look into those big eyes and shoot those poor creatures. "Hunting!" she sputtered, clearly taken aback.

Craig laughed. "Let me guess, you're against hunting"

"Of course! Why would you want to kill innocent animals!"

"Don't knock it until you've tried it"

"No thanks," Shelby said, shaking her head. "I will _never_ hunt"

Craig smirked slightly. "Ok, I have a question for you, and answer honestly because a lot of people are hypocritical with this stuff. I'm not just saying you, I mean a lot of people. So, have you ever worn anything made of leather?"

_On the streets, yes,_ Shelby thought to herself bitterly. Actually, in the beginning it had been pleather, but once she'd started making more money, she'd upgraded. Patty had told her that men liked the smell of the real stuff, something about turning them on. "Yes"

"Leather comes from cows. Someone killed a cow to make you clothes, or shoes. The only difference with hunting is that we kill the animals ourselves, instead of having someone do it for us"

"No. Its completely different. Cows are also used for their meat. You kill little furry animals for fun!" Shelby argued.

"Well deer can be used for meat too. My mom makes a killer Venison stew," Craig commented, laughing momentarily at the disgusted look that crossed Shelby's face. "Uh huh. I see," he continued, nodding. "Cows aren't cute, so its okay to kill them. But if you're cute, you should be saved?"

"That's not what I meant at all!" Shelby said, frustrated, though she knew he had a point. However, she'd never let him know it. "I think hunting's cruel. Plain and simple."

"Okay," Craig said, squeezing her hand lightly. "We agree to disagree"

"All right."

"So you won't hold it against me?"

"I won't." But she was lying. That was it; as much as she hated to admit it to herself, any chance of a romantic connection was gone. Jesus, it was such a pity, because he was just _that _cute. But she just couldn't see herself with a guy who did those sorts of things.

"Good" 

They both sat there for a moment, enjoying the silence and the reflection of the moon on the lake, before Shelby unintentionally let out a big, loud yawn. Wrinkling her nose a bit, she glanced at him sheepishly, covering her mouth as he stood up. "Come on" Craig said, smiling, pulling Shelby to her feet, "Its getting late. I'll walk you to your dorm."

She'd followed him down the dock dutifully, heading back across campus. Silence continued to envelope them as they walked side-by-side in the darkness, about a half a foot between them. Craig glanced over at her more than once, trying to get a read, but Shelby stared straight ahead, her hands stuffed in the front pockets of her jacket, her lips pursed together. She took the stairs two at a time as they walked towards their respective dorms, leaving Craig scrambling a bit to catch up.

He grinned, a bit out of breath as they reached the door, pushing up his sleeves, crossing his arms over his chest. "Good race, I think you got me there," he joked, relieved when she cracked a smile. "Listen, tonight was … nice," he continued, turning a bit serious, stepping a bit closer to her. "I mean, thanks for listening … and agreeing to disagree and all that."

------------

Just a few feet away, unbeknownst to Craig or Shelby, a spy was hiding in the boys dorm, watching the interaction on the floor, his knees digging into the hardwood. Blue eyes observed the scene, watching as he jogged up behind her. He couldn't hear what was said, but he made her laugh. Damnit. Pushing the heavy red curtains aside a bit more, he lightly pressed his nose up against the glass, his baited breath fogging up the window. Biting down on his lip, his eyes went wide as Craig stepped closer to her, studying her face with a familiar look in his eyes. He took her hand, and his face moved closer to hers. "Don't you touch her … Jesus, he's going to try to kiss her, what the f…"

"Hey meat? Why you on the floor, huh," Auggie questioned groggily, sitting up in bed. Immediately at the sound of his voice, Scott jerked his head back, releasing the curtains.

"I was uh, looking for a contact. Go back to sleep muchacho." 

In his state, Auggie merely nodded, accepting Scott's ridiculous excuse. Within seconds, he was snoring loudly. Letting out a sigh of relief, Scott quickly dropped back down to his knees, peeking out the window again. There was no one there.

"Damnit!" he hissed, throwing the curtains shut, flinging himself back down on his bed. What had happened? Did he even want to know? And why did he even care? If only Shelby Merrick knew she was keeping him awake at night, causing him to toss and turn at all hours without a wink of sleep.

If only he knew that in the cabin across from his, Shelby Merrick, just having slipped away from a potentially awkward kiss, was suffering the same symptoms, care of one Scott Barringer.


	5. narco shrooms and little girls lost

Same Hate To Love You, just updated and revamped. I'll be posting the first eight chapters as I edit them, and then I'll finally be updating with new chapters after that. If you were a fan of this fic the first time around (I started writing it in 2001), I hope you like the changes. I'd like to think I've become a much better writer since then. If you've never read it, and this is your first exposure, I hope you'll enjoy it now.

This is kind of an AU – same Cliffhangers, same issues. The only difference? Scott and Shelby went to school together, from kindergarten, onward. Their issues are still the same, and woven into that fabric. It shouldn't be too hard to follow, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask! And as always, reviews (good, bad, indifferent) are appreciated ;)

**Authors Note**: I just can't say how glad I am that people like this story. The reviews really get me going when I'm feeling lazy, or I have a bit or writers block. You guys are awesome, seriously. I personally feel this chapter is kind of filler, because it's based primarily around "Babe In Arms," so you more or less know what happened, but I tweaked things a big to fit in Craig (**Keke1**: While I am a hue fan of Degrassi, Craig isn't based on Craig from the show. Unfortunately, I didn't even know about Degrassi when I first wrote this fic ! The visual I have of him, as of right now, is Johnny from the OC), and the different storylines. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it!

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Morning was fading into afternoon on the Horizon campus. The sun hung prominently over the mountains, and the grass was covered with a slick, sparkling dew. Students and counselors ambled about, carrying on with their daily activities, swapping gossip about what had happened the day before. They might not have been in a normal high school environment, but that was not to say that the school's rumor mill didn't exist. In fact, it seemed to work overtime, especially lately.

Peter's ex wife, Chloe, had appeared at Horizon the previous day, without warning. The word was that the school was in financial trouble, and Chloe was there to assist Peter in bailing them out. Regardless of her intentions, her entrance made quite a splash – literally. Perhaps in an attempt to show up Peter's _other_ former flame, the ever adventurous Sophie Becker (who'd made quite the spectacular entrance herself, parachuting down off the side of a cliff and appearing on campus via the back of Peter's motorcycle – though none of the students had seen the former), Chloe's mission to reacquaint herself with Peter's motorcycle had gone awry, and she'd gone streaking across campus, right into the lake. It was quite a sight to behold. Even more humorous was the fact that both Sophie and Chloe were staying at Peter's off-campus home. More than a few Horizon pupils wished they could have been flies on the wall the previous night.

However, despite the gossip and turmoil in his personal life, Peter was hardly focusing on himself. Not only did he have 125 kids to worry about, but he'd just received a call from Curtis – Annie's daughter, Gracie, had apparently wandered off during their mother-daughter campout the night before. He'd told Curtis that they'd be glad to help, and set the receiver back down in its cradle, sitting behind his desk momentarily, attempting to mobilize a plan of action.

Just then, Jeff, Horizon's most hopelessly accident prone counselor walked through the door, his hands full of paperwork that Peter had given him the night before. Noticing the perplexed look on Peter's face, Jeff slowly set the stack down on his desk, raising a questioning eyebrow, removing his ever-present glasses.

Noting the look of concern coming from Jeff, Peter stood up, crossing the room. "Annie's daughter Gracie is lost someplace on the south face," he said quickly, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack, easing it over his shoulders, pacing momentarily.

"Do you want me to call search and rescue?" Jeff asked, his eyes widening.

"No, Curtis already covered it. They're busy fighting a forest fire down in Hamilton. It'll be hours before they could shake a squad loose and we can't waste all that time. So I want you to get together three groups of kids." He paused for a moment, rubbing his temples. "I want uh … the Trackers, the Cliffhangers, and the Ridge Runners. Take them up there ASAP"

"All right. Got it."

"Thanks."

-----------

"All right, everybody, listen up!"

Peter's voice rang out over the group of students Jeff had rounded up, assembled before him, packs in hand. The looks on their young faces ran the gauntlet from concerned to annoyed, but Peter paid them no mind. Annie had become one of his dearest friends soon after he first arrived in Agnes, and Frank took him to dinner at Rusty's. He was also admittedly fond of the little girl in question, Annie's daughter Gracie. She had a spark and a fire about her that reminded Peter of himself when he was young. So adventurous and full of questions – he should have known that she would wander off. Inhaling sharply, he once again called for the group's attention, this time via a shrill whistle. Those who were still talking amongst themselves immediately fell silent, and Peter exhaled, sticking his hands in his back pockets.

"Ok, this is how we're going to play it. No whining, no complaining, no asking if you can switch groups. Scott, Auggie, and Craig, you're going with me. Jeff, you can take Jules and Shelby. Ezra and Kat, go with Curtis. The rest of you are already assigned, now fan out. You've all got your gear, your whistles … blow them loud if you see anything. And be careful. Everybody, move out!"

----------

"It's so sad, isn't it?"

Shelby tried not to roll her eyes and/or gag at Juliette's lament, or the sad, puppy dog look on her face. Of course it was sad, but it happened every day. Tough luck, kid! You'll manage! Ok, maybe that was a little cold, but she couldn't deny it – it wasn't something she was proud of, but she felt bitter. Gracie was lost for a couple hours, and she'd already garnered a hulking search and rescue team. Most of those searching had never even met her. On the other hand, she'd been lost for years – in more ways than one – and what had she gotten? Where was her search party? 

Feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes, she bit down on the inside of her lower lip, hard until she tasted blood. She wasn't about to cry, especially not in front of Juliette. It was bad enough she had to trek through the woods with her, of all people, but if she actually saw Shelby break down, she'd never hear the end of it. The whole group would know by the time they got back and she'd be screwed. Taking a deep breath, she locked her jaw and shoved her hands in her pockets. "She's just another lost kid. There are millions of them. What's one more or less?"

Her voice was cold, cold as ice. Cold, unfeeling, empty. She'd never budge an inch. She'd never give anything away. She could feel Juliette staring at her, horrified, but she didn't care. She was too busy and consumed with other thoughts to worry about what Juliette thought of her. Those dark blue eyes were quickly scanning the woods, but not for Gracie.

Mushrooms.

Yes, mushrooms. The ones with the pointy tops – thank you ever so much, Freakin. Now if only she could find them. They were supposed to be abundant, weren't they? If only she'd been partnered with Ezra. Sure, he might dole out lewd jokes and make her want to vomit, but he'd be more than a little helpful in her expedition. Maybe she'd even be so kind as to share with him. God, she just needed something, right now. Something to get her mind off of everything, the swirling mess that was going on in her head. A hallucinogenic ride seemed all too ideal.

"Wow, that's cold." Juliette replied finally, frowning as she finally snapped her gaping mouth shut. She knew Shelby could be mean, but this took the cake. There was no emotion in her voice – none. Didn't she care, at least a little bit? Gracie was just a poor little kid. A lost, scared little girl. Couldn't Shelby at least grasp that?

"Yeah, well, at least we're looking for her. That's more than anyone did for me."

-----------

Sun peeked through the tree branches, casting long swatches of light into the shady woods. Leaves and branches crunched under their feet as they walked along the well beaten path, looking for signs of the little girl lost. Every once in a while, they'd hear a twig snap, turning simultaneously towards the noise – only to watch a squirrel hopping away, his cheeks stuffed with berries. Every once in a while they'd stop, calling her name and waiting, listening, hoping that a tiny cry would come from the deafening silence. However, so far, there was only quiet. Hope, and more so luck, had eluded them.

Peter and Auggie walked side by side, with Scott and Craig trailing behind. Peter and Auggie went off and on with general conversation, regarding the terrain, Auggie's studies, and other various potpourri subjects, but the back end of the group was silent. Scott kept his blue eyes trained on Auggie's red t-shirt, his jaw locked in an angry line. His expression only changed the few times he glanced over to his right, sending a piercing glare towards Craig, who'd been completely oblivious as of yet. What a loser.

Finally, clearing his throat, Scott decided it was time he got something off his chest. 

"Hey"

"Hey"

"So uh, how you like Horizon?"

"It's alright, I guess. The kids in my group are ok. It's been an adjustment." 

"Peter fill you in on the rules?"

"Yeah … first day introduction."

Scott smirked, letting out an effective, throaty chuckle, barely hiding his disdain. "Oh yeah? Well either you've got problems with authority, or you might want to get your hearing checked, because you sure do break 'um fast."

"What?" 

"Last week. You're not supposed to be out after lights out, you know. And it's a really big no-no to be out with a girl. Peter finds out, he'll bust your balls – have you running all over campus, twisting yourself into a human pretzel. Choppin' wood and stuff." 

"What? Were you spying on me or something?"

Craig's voice rose, and Scott's went right along with it. "Maybe. Does it matter? Breakin' rules is still breakin' rules. What, you think you're special or something! Like you're better than the rest of us! The newbie bit gets real old, real fast man."

"What's going on back there!"

Peter's voice broke the tension between the two, who'd stopped and were now staring at each other; Craig's face a tale of disbelief, Scott's eyes flashing, spewing venom. Swallowing quickly, Scott managed to regain his composure, pasting on his best do-gooder smile.

"It's all good, Peter. Just sharing some tips with Craig here!" Scott called. Peter raised an eyebrow but reluctantly turned around as they all began walking again. Scott let his face relax, and tossed another glare in Craig's direction. _Yeah, tips. Like if he tries to kiss Shelby once more, he'll be searching for his teeth on the floor_

------------

"You!"

"What?" Crouched down on the ground, Shelby glanced over her shoulder as she noticed Juliette, cheeks flushed, looking disappointed. Judging from the way her sensible sneakers had come to a stop just a few feet away, after she'd come streaking down the ridge, raven hair flying, she guessed Queenie had been expecting someone else – someone closer to four feet tall. How predictable – Princess Perfect wanted to add Kiddie Finder extraordinaire to her already sparkling resume. Smirking, with a low laugh, Shelby turned her attention back to the log she'd been so diligently observing. "Oh, you were preparing your 'Queen of the Rescue' speech?"

Juliette ignored the question, placing her hands on her non-existent hips. "What are you looking for?"

"Getting my hands on some natural wonders," Shelby replied, matter-of-fact, rubbing her dry palms together in excited anticipation. "Narco-'shrooms Friedkin told me about. They're supposed to grow around here." 

"You're going to eat something you found on the ground!"

Shelby rolled her eyes. The Princess was really wearing on her already fragile nerves. "And I'm going to say 'Yum-Yum' when I do."

"She's lost. That little girl is lost! Think if it was you." Juliette pressed, more frustrated than ever. This poor little girl was out there, scared and alone, and all Shelby could think about was getting some kind of buzz from some gross mushrooms that she found on the dirty ground? Did she even have a soul, a heart? 

Shelby stood up and whirled around so quickly, with such intensity in her eyes that Juliette was taken aback. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashed momentarily before she regained her cool. "I was. Now I plan on finding some 'shrooms, and getting good and lost again," she replied, emotionless once more.

"You're disgusting." 

"And you have room to talk, being bulimic."

------------

An hour later and Shelby had finally managed to separate herself from the incredibly annoying Jeff/Juliette combo. Between Jeff's warnings, which effectively ended her search for narco-shrooms and Juliette's pestering about her lack of concern, Shelby was nearly at the end of her rope. Not only had Ezra's pharmaceutical diagnosis failed her, but she was still stuck combing the woods for a little girl she didn't even know. Sure, Shelby might have had more contact with Gracie than most Horizon students. The little girl had innocently interrogated her soon after Peter assigned her an essay, "Me and My Shadow," as a consequence of failing to complete the ropes course.

Recalling the experience, Shelby felt a stab of guilt for being so blasé about the incident. She _was_ just a poor, innocent, scared little girl. More than anyone else, she should have understood Gracie's plight. There had been so many times she'd wished and hoped and prayed that someone would save her. She knew what it was like to be lost, and alone, and afraid – and this girl was even younger than she'd been. The very least she could do was make a concerted effort, especially now that her search and acquire mission had fallen by the wayside.

"Help! Mommy! Mommy!"

Stopping in her tracks, Shelby looked up, her mouth dropping open. Her heart rate accelerating, she blinked a few times just to make sure she wasn't seeing things. But it was no illusion. There she was, the lost, scared little girl, screaming desperately for help as she did her best to hang on to the thick root, keeping her suspended high above the jagged rocks below. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her knuckles white from gripping so tightly. Shelby dropped her pack, and Gracie's eyes flew open.

"Wouldn't you know it. Had to be me."

"I'm afraid!" 

Gracie's voice sent chills down her spine. Shelby was afraid too. She felt helpless, her mind racing as she tried to figure out what to do, what to say. "I know you are. Who's not," she began, her voice uneven, trying to think of something, anything to reassure her. Shelby's hands were shaking and her legs soon followed suit. "Just hang on, I'll get some help," she continued, backing away slightly, looking back onto the path, into the distance. "Jeff! Juliette!"

Her voice echoed across the landscape, and she listened momentarily, hoping to hear a voice call back. But she was greeted only by the chirping of birds. Running back towards the rocks, she screamed their names once more, quickly glancing over her shoulder to make sure Gracie was still clinging, and then turning around to gaze back up the path.

No Jeff. No Juliette

Nothing.

No one.

Putting her hands on her hips momentarily, fingertips Shelby's body all of a sudden seemed to go on auto-pilot. She weaved through the boulders on the ground, placing her hands and feet in position as she began the scale the wall, slowly. She hated climbing, she hated heights, she hated everything about her situation at the moment. Squeezing her eyes shut, she held on tight, staring straight ahead at the rough, gray mass in front of her. Gulping quickly, she felt her legs freeze up, and panic overtake her. Once again, she called for Jeff and Juliette.

Once again, she was met with silence.

She swallowed several times, closing her eyes, pressing her forehead against the rock, trying to regain her composure. She was convinced that she might hyperventilate and pass out right then and there until she heard a shudder, and dirt, along with small pebbles rained down on her head, followed by a long, high screech

"I'm falling!"

Looking up, Shelby noticed that the root had come loose due to the distribution of Gracie's weight. The girl's grip had loosened in the fall, and as she tried to get a better grasp, it slipped further and further out of the ground. She wouldn't last much longer – even if Gracie could hold onto the root, the root couldn't hold on to the dry earth.

"Don't, don't fall, okay? Just don't fall!"

Adrenaline pumping, Shelby once again began scaling the real life rock wall, much more quickly this time. She could hear her heartbeat, thumping loudly in her ears as she moved higher and higher, ignoring the sky above, the ground below – everything except that little girl, crying and begging and pleading for her mother. Crying and begging and pleading to be saved.

For years, no one had come to save Shelby. As she reached Gracie, she realized the least she could do was to make sure that another innocent little girl wouldn't suffer the same fate.

"Okay," she breathed, carefully gaining her balance and reaching for Gracie. "Okay, we're going down."

"I … I can't!"

Shelby closed her eyes before looking upwards, the root precariously hanging on by a proverbial thread. She couldn't do this all by herself. She needed the girl to work with her. "Look, I came all the way up here, didn't I? Now don't give me a hard time."

Hearing her stern tone of voice, Gracie immediately did as she was told, obediently wrapping her arms around Shelby's neck, holding on tightly as the older girl began her descent, her emotions running wild.

He'd heard her pleas echoing into the woods, and run to the scene as quickly as he could, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was seeing. On the ground, with a bird's eye view, Ezra watched in wide-eyed amazement as Shelby, the girl who hated heights, the girl who refused to participate in the net assisted, helmet required ropes course, carefully climbed up and down the rocks, successfully bringing the lost little girl to safety. Once they reached the bottom, she let the girl step onto a rock, and then jump into her wide open, waiting arms. She held the girl for a minute, squeezing her tight, eyes pressed shut. Letting out a deep sigh, she smiled, stepping down off the rocks, moving towards the path.

But her smile was erased as soon as she saw Ezra. Glee filled eyes went dark, empty once again. Her arms, previously holding Gracie tightly, became noticeably limper. Her overall demeanor changed, as if someone flicked a light switch.

But he'd seen her. She was exposed, even if it was just partial.

"What?"

Her voice, directed at him, was challenging, sharp, as if what she hadn't just done was hardly spectacular.

But he'd seen her. 

"You. You're such a fraud. It's all an act."

Shelby stared at him, unsure of what to say or do. Luckily, Gracie saved her.

"I want my mommy."

_Nice move kid, really, you have no idea. That distraction is all the thanks I need. _Shoving her into Ezra's arms, Shelby pasted on a look of disgust, her voice dripping with cold sarcasm. "Whatever, just take her to her mommy."

Ezra looked at her incredulously. "What? Me!"

"Just tell them you found her," Shelby replied, her tone careless as she picked up her pack off the ground, pushing past the both of them. Heading back down the path, her pace brisk, she stopped momentarily, turning to look at Ezra over her shoulder, eyes shooting daggers. "And if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, you'll beg for death!"

------------

"Way to go, Ezra!"

"Where was she!"

"Awesome, EZ!".

"Nice going, son!"

Moments after Ezra had reunited Gracie with her worried mother in the clearing, designated as meeting place, verbal and physical praise was coming at him from all angles. He smiled, but looked slightly uncomfortable, and felt more than slightly confused. He couldn't fathom why she wouldn't take credit – why she wouldn't want anyone to see the Shelby he'd seen for that brief moment. Glancing over at her, standing silently the fringe of the group, his eyes silently questioned her. She picked up immediately, though her expression remained blank, her eyes searing his own, reminding him not to open his mouth. No one paid attention to the wordless interaction, however, as they continued to clap Ezra on the back, singing his praises for a spectacular deed that he had only witnessed, not completed.

Inside, she was hurting. Her heart writhed with an incredible amount of pain and anguish, her throat tightening immediately at the sight of Annie's arms wrapped so tightly around Gracie. Turning away for a moment, a single tear trickled down her pale cheek, noticed by no one in all the exuberant commotion. She quickly wiped it away and forced a small smile, just to save face, playing the role of the proud Cliffhanger.

But at that moment, watching the scene unfold before her, more than anything else, Shelby wished she could be Gracie. To have a mother who cared, who looked when her daughter was lost, who wept for, and embraced, her daughter when she was found. That was all she'd ever really wanted, all she'd ever dreamed off.

Holding back a barrage of tears, she reminded herself of the tough lessons that she'd learned and lived with for as long as she could remember.

You can't always get what you want, and dreams don't always come true.

------------

Tossing and turning was becoming routine. Rolling back and forth between the twisted sheets eyes wide open, staring at the shadows that crossed the ceiling had become commonplace. Part of her was afraid she really had insomnia or something – after all, she honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a good night sleep; it had to have been at least two months since she'd gotten a good five hours. But there was just too much going on in her head, too many thoughts racing through her head, colliding with each other at warp speed keeping her awake at all hours. It was like being on speed – like having intense jitters. If drugs were bad for her, she'd decided, being left to her own devices was downright toxic.

But at least for once, for the first time in a good while, she wasn't thinking about Scott and her twisted, jumbled feelings, or lack thereof, for him. Unable to get the image of Annie and Gracie out of her head, she was thinking about what it felt like to be held, to be safe, to be loved. And the realization that she just didn't know hit her like a ton of bricks, causing her to sit up straight in bed, struggling to control her breathing. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.

She needed a cigarette, and she needed it now.

Quietly slipping out of bed, she grabbed her jacket, and made her way down towards the woodshed. She'd run, and her breathing had become even more labored. She couldn't breathe and felt like her heart would burst – she actually felt she might pass out if she didn't calm her nerves soon. Creeping around the stump that doubled as the chopping block, she reached a shaking hand between two large chunks of wood in the middle of the stack, immediately withdrawing a carton of cigarettes. Shaking a pack loose, she felt more at ease as soon as she grasped the cylinder between her fingers. Shifting the cigarette into her left hand, her right reached for the pack of matches. Flipping the book open, she closed her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

Empty.

"Son of a mother …" she muttered to herself, throwing the cigarette on the ground.

That's when she saw it, caught out of the corner of her eye.

It had been there as long as she had, but she'd never really noticed it before – she'd never taken the time to look at the towering, carved statue of a mother bear, holding its cub. Without realizing it, she felt herself being drawn towards it, her feet carrying her away from the wood shed and towards the more open area of the campus. As she walked closer, she noted the space between the mother bear and her cub.

There was room for her, too.

Her eyes glued to the wooden wonder, Shelby carefully climbed up into the bears lap, pulling her knees tightly towards her body, leaning back against the mother bear's chest. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Shelby felt safe, warm, wanted. Just as she'd gotten situated, the tears began to flow. All of the anger, frustration, pain, and hurt, that had been building up for so long finally spilled over, the invisible dams behind her eyes breaking under the intense pressure. Her anguish and despair streamed out in the form of two small, seemingly endless rivers, flowing from dark blue eyes, coasting easily down smooth alabaster skin, finally falling onto blue cotton, leaving tell-tale splotches. Branding her with grief.

_Spend all your time waiting for that second chance  
For the break that will make it ok  
There's always some reason to feel 'not good enough'  
And it's hard at the end of the day.  
I need some distraction, oh beautiful release  
Memories seep from my veins   
They may be empty and weightless, and maybe  
I'll find some peace tonight_

In the arms of the Angels, fly away from here   
From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear  
You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie   
You're in the arms of an Angel; may you find some comfort here

He couldn't sleep. The nightmares didn't stop – if anything, they had become more vivid, more real. He could feel her dark hair brushing against his bare chest as she pressed her lips into his; her delicate pale fingers, armed with red, manicured nails digging into his tan skin; the weight of her body on top of his; the nausea that rushed over him when he heard his father snore, or grumble in his sleep just one room away. He could feel all of it, the sensations leaving him to wake up, bathed in a cold sweat, quickly looking around the dorm, making sure he hadn't screamed out loud, waking everyone, requiring him to fashion a half-assed explanation.

His hand shaking, like a heroin addict desperate for their fix, he climbed out of bed, not bothering to reach for his jacket as he slipped out the door quickly, wincing as the screen slammed behind him, yet not bothering to look back to see if he'd disturbed anyone. Walking past the girls dorm, he remembered hearing from one of the Wind Dancers that someone kept cigarettes down in the woodshed. _Maybe they'll at least calm my nerves,_ Scott thought to himself, looking down at his hands as he began his descent down the stairs, preparing for his trek across campus, realizing that he probably should have stopped and grabbed his jacket after all.

Then he stopped short.

There were several carved, wooden statues scattered across campus, most visible from the landing where Scott stood. He'd never really noticed them much before, but the presence of moment within one of them was more than enough to give him pause. His heart pounding, he squinted, noting a flash of blonde hair, mixed with blue fabric; the petite figure was shaking. He slowly moved closer, trying to get a better look – but stopped short again as the figure lifted her head from her knees, her features finally becoming visible as shock paralyzed him.

Shelby.

He hadn't seen her cry since they were in first grade. They'd been racing on their bikes, the day before school let out for summer. She'd been on a smaller, slower bike, and had pedaled twice as hard as Scott, determined to beat him to the finish. She'd almost made it too, but the made the mistake of looking down at her pedals, completely losing her rhythm. As she tried to get it back, she lost control, flipping over the handlebars, rolling on the pavement, breaking her left arm in the process. Scott left her with a neighbor, ran to get his mother, and made her a card out of construction paper and crayola. He remembered being jealous of her the next day in school, when everyone wanted to sign her hot pink cast.

Scott tried to break his own arm three times that summer, luckily with no success.

Since then, especially in high school, she'd been embarrassed and taunted and teased, but she never cracked. She'd been hurt, both in physical fist fights and mental shouting matches, but he hadn't seen her shed a tear. Yet here she was, on such a cold night, curled up in the lap of a statue, stifling her sobs with the sleeve of her jacket.

He watched her for a few minutes more, trying to ignore the way his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, debating whether or not he should check on her to see if she was alright. But decided on the latter, reasoning that approaching her now might just make her even more upset. Forgetting about the cigarettes, he slowly turned on his heel, casting one more glance over his shoulder, before heading back up the stairs towards his dorm; he swallowed hard, cringing, the soft, low sound of her cries dissipating with each step.

_So tired of the straight line_  
And _everywhere you turn there's vultures and thieves at your back  
The storm keeps on twisting  
Keep on building the lies that you make up  
For all that you lack.  
It don't make no difference, escaping one last time.  
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness  
Oh, this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees.  
_

_In the arms of the angel, fly away  
From here, from this dark cold hotel room  
And the endlessness that you fear.  
You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie.  
In the arms of the angel may you find...some comfort here.  
You're in the arms of the angel, may you find  
Some comfort here..._


	6. the scott barringer shit show, take one!

Disclaimer in previous chapters still applies

**Authors Note**: I am SO sorry this took so long to update, but I'm definitely not giving up on this story. School got in the way, and then I found myself with a killer case of writers block. It didn't help that in the original 'Hate to Love You' this chapter was really poorly written. There were incidents and entire conversations that were just really out of character for both Scott and Shelby, so that made the process a lot tougher. I tried my best to correct those problems, but with that being said, I'm going to be honest – personally I think this chapter is a lot weaker than some of the others – I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but I do think its much better than the original. I'm open to any suggestions and/or criticisms you might have. This _would_ have been up early yesterday morning, but the site wouldn't let me upload for some reason -- I tried all day and no go -- VERY frustrating! Tentatively, I'm going to say that I'm shooting for the next chapter within the next week, but I make no promises. I hope you enjoy, and once again, sorry about the wait!

------------

Sun shone in through the floor to ceiling windows, casting a warm glow on the multiple wooden tables. Students chatted as they walked through the doors, taking their place in line, some still half-asleep, looking less than eager as their empty trays were quickly loaded by their peers with unappetizing options. Like normal kids, in a normal high school cafeteria, some stopped to talk to friends at other tables, swapping gossip about Sophie's arrival, Hannah's departure, and other odds and ends that were deemed of interest. The clattering of forks and spoons rose above the din as they moved to their seats, youthful voices continually complaining of undercooked eggs, overcooked toast, and downright suspect bacon.

At the Cliffhanger's table, positioned in the center of the room, Scott sat next to Juliette, who was picking at her food, per usual. Under normal circumstances he'd press her to eat, offering encouraging words, trying to tell her that she really should try her oatmeal because, for once, it didn't taste like tar, and wasn't that a momentous event? But this morning he said nothing as she pushed her eggs aimlessly around her plate; it wasn't that he'd stopped caring – he wasn't in love with her, not by a long shot, but he wasn't a complete asshole; he cared about her, very much so – he was just too distracted. His blue eyes, clouded over this morning, were focused on the door, as he mindlessly shoveled the contents of his plate into his mouth, not bothering to look and see just what he was ingesting. He was chewing so quickly, so diligently, that he barely tasted his breakfast – which was probably for the better, anyhow.

Body on autopilot, he sprung up as soon as she walked in, dropping his fork onto his now empty plate with a loud clatter, leaving a confused Juliette alone to meticulously dissect her meal as if it were a science project. She wore jeans, a gray sweater, and her trademark expression; half scowl, half smirk, 100 her. Her stride was confident, per usual, and there was nothing about her that suggested that anything was amiss. No puffy eyes, no disheveled appearance, nothing at all. But he knew better. His eyes hadn't deceived him, though he'd questioned the possibility several times in the hours since. Weaving through tables, squeezing through groups of students, he waited until she passed him. Glancing to his left and right, he grabbed her arm before she could speak, or even see him coming at her, pulling her aside, out of the dining hall, so no one could hear their conversation.

"Hey, um, is everything all right with you?"

Shelby looked at him as if he was of another planet, trying not to let her eyes bug too far out of her head. Was she hearing right? More importantly, were her eyes playing tricks on her? She never thought she'd see the day. Scott stood before her with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his cheeks pink, a look of genuine concern on his face. But she was just as genuinely bewildered and had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Was this about the thing in the clearing? Was his massive ego wondering why she hadn't been compelled to shove her tongue down his throat and proclaim her undying love for him? Shaking her head a bit, she took a small step back, shrugging her shoulders slowly.

"Uh, yeah? Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

Scott sighed, peering at her for a moment, unable to figure out if she was putting him on, or if she was genuinely clueless. Either way, he should have known she wasn't going to give him an inch. If he'd learned one thing about Shelby Merrick in all these years, it was that she was tough, tough as nails. As far as he could see, she was unbreakable. Sure, she'd bend. She was human after all; her slip when he was running errands had assured him of that. But she'd quickly recovered – she'd never break. Nothing seemed to faze her; nothing seemed to throw her off – not before, not now, not ever. She just seemed to hide easily behind an endless stream of smart remarks, and quick one-liners.

Which was exactly why the previous night had been so startling.

"I don't know, maybe last night was kind of a red flag?"

Shelby's face immediately darkened, and her eyes narrowed into tiny slits. The look on her hardened face would have scared children and small animals, but Scott knew it too well to be effected. He looked exasperated, but calm nonetheless. That only made the entire situation more infuriating. How in the hell did he even know about last night? She'd made sure that no one was around! And more importantly, why did he even care? Big deal, so she cried. She'd experienced a momentary lapse of control. She cracked a little bit, she showed some emotion, the smoke screen fell down – yes, and? What, did he want to sell tickets so everyone could see such a monumental event? Was he wondering if there'd be a second matinee viewing?

"What _about_ last night?" she asked stiffly, crossing her arms firmly over her chest, her eyes still shooting daggers

"Don't give me that bullshit, Shelby; I'm trying to be nice here. I saw you in the statue, ok?" Sighing, frustrated, he glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice before he continued, stepping closer to her, "I saw you crying."

_Trying to be nice?_, she thought to herself, bitterly,_ That's a first_! "So let me get this straight, you were spying on me?" Shelby accused tightly, once again taking a step back, content to stay at a comfortable distance, both physically, and in the essence of the conversation. The closer he got to her physically, the more vulnerable she'd feel. The more vulnerable she felt, the more likely she'd be to break down and blurt out exactly why she'd been crying last night to the last person who'd understand what she was going through. She knew that well enough; she knew what she had to do to keep her walls up, and intact. She really wasn't the strongest girl around, but she was smart enough to make it work for her.

Scott bit down on his lip, fighting the urge to scream. Why did she always have to be so goddamn difficult? She got under his skin like no one else; she made him want to tear his hair out, and she didn't even know it. "No, I wasn't spying on you. I heard from one of the Ridge Runners that someone hid cigs in the woodshed. I couldn't sleep so I figured I'd go out and see if they were for real," he explained truthfully, conveniently leaving out his nightmares about Elaine. "But before I could even get down the stairs, I saw you … you know, crying," he said, lowering his voice once again, as if it were a dirty, disgusting secret he'd been sworn to protect. "I didn't know what to do and I figured you'd want to be alone, so I just went back to bed."

"Yeah, the cigarettes are mine," Shelby commented, once again deflecting the issue of her tears the previous night. She didn't bother to correct him – she hadn't wanted to be alone. She wanted someone, anyone, to wrap their arms around her and tell her that she was important and loved and safe – that would blow her entire cover and she'd be complete exposed. A 'fraud,' as Ezra called her. "You can keep your hands off, thank you."

"All right, chill," Scott sighed, stepping back, holding up his hands in defeat. He realized he'd set his sights just a bit too high. He should have known she wasn't going to open up and pour her heart out to him. But he'd just been so taken aback that sitting there and acting like he hadn't seen anything just wasn't an option. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay – "

"I'm _fine_," she replied firmly, cutting him off, not bothering to thank him for his concern, or whatever it was. She didn't need his sympathy, his charity, his – whatever. "I'm not six years old, I don't need a babysitter." Fixing him with an icy glare, she let her crossed arms drop to her sides. "I can take care of myself." And with that, she turned on her heel, stalking back into the dining hall, silently fuming as she stood on line, waiting for a tray of fine Horizon cuisine to be passed her way.

------------

Scott began walking back to the table, trying to shake off the feeling of defeat. He didn't know what he'd expected from the whole exchange, but he knew it was something more than what he'd been given. The pensive, thoughtful look on his face gave way to one of annoyance, however, when he saw Auggie sitting beside Juliette, too close for Scott's liking. He whispered something in her ear, and she laughed. For some reason, this made him angry. It wasn't the way he felt when he saw Shelby with Craig – raw, unapologetic rage that caused his blood to boil for reasons beyond his comprehension – but he was still plenty ticked off. Perhaps the distinction between the rage and annoyance should have sent him soul searching, but Scott had far too much going on his head to sort everything out. And the bottom line was that Juliette was _his_. They were together, it was established, and everyone knew it, Auggie included. So what if he was having weird feelings regarding Shelby? The Horizon food was probably eating away at his brain. It didn't matter anyhow – _they _were still together, and he was getting pretty sick of seeing Juliette with barrio boy every time he walked away.

Annoyance aside, he wordlessly sat down in a chair across from them, paying little attention as he noticed a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. Shelby was standing in line, the angry look on her face softening as newbie extraordinaire Craig appeared behind her. In a truly sickening gesture, Craig whipped a dandelion out from behind his back, presenting it to Shelby with an overdone bow. Scott smirked. Oh, that was just way too rich. Shelby wouldn't show him any mercy, he noted, eager to see what happened next. But to his dismay, she didn't throw the weed at him, she didn't laugh in his face; in fact, she smiled – she took it. Jesus Christ, was she seriously blushing? Was she actually buying it?

"Scott? Hello? Earth to Scott?" Juliette said, waving her hand in front of his face. When he didn't snap to attention, she followed his gaze, and then grinned slightly. It was rare that she'd compliment Shelby, but she was a sucker for romance. Besides, she'd always seen Scott's past with Shelby, albeit not so friendly, as a threat. Their constant comments and sarcastic banter made her uneasy. So anything that looked like it would thwart that threat made Juliette downright thrilled.

"I think they make a cute couple, don't you?"

Auggie smiled slightly, and nodded in agreement. Frankly, he could have cared less about Shelby's romantic escapades, but it seemed to make Juliette happy, and he was all for making her happy. Scott, on the other hand, didn't even try to hide his distaste. "Oh yeah, just adorable. They're super!"

Both Juliette and Auggie exchanged glances before looking back at Scott, surprised at his deeply sarcastic, venomous tone. Juliette's insecurities once again bubbled to the surface, the smile on her face quickly fading. Why did he seem so irritated? Maybe he was just tired. The bags under his eyes would indicate that he _hadn't _gotten much sleep. Was she just being silly and irrational? There was only one way to find out.

"What's wrong with you?"

Scott froze, looking across the table at their confused faces. Juliette opened her mouth to say something more, but then snapped it shut. She looked down at her plate for a minute and then back across the table, her expression slightly wounded. Auggie just glanced back and forth between them, uncomfortable, waiting to see what happened next. Realizing how his behavior must have looked, Scott tried to save face.

"It's nothing. I just really don't care what Shelby does. Kind of concerned about Craig, though," he noted, prepared to quickly squash any misconceptions the exchange might have provided, "because you know, Shelby's been around. _A lot_. I wouldn't wish that STD farm on anyone," Scott quipped easily, though the laugh that followed was short and forced. He felt a stab of guilt, but quickly brushed it away. "Look, I'm going to head out," he continued, assuming his shrug and renewed nonchalance would suffice as an explanation, pushing his chair in and heading through the doors, down the steps, and across campus without another word.

Biting down on her lip, Juliette was still confused, still insecure. He was just acting so weird lately. Something had to be up – he should tell her these things. After all, she _was _his girlfriend, wasn't she? They should be able to talk about things that were bothering them, right? She silently watched Scott's retreating back until he disappeared out the door. Sitting still for a moment, she glanced at Shelby and Craig, the Auggie, then the door once more. Her plate was still primarily full, but that was irrelevant – with a quick apology to a slightly disappointed Auggie, she let her fork drop to the table as she jogged out of the dining hall after Scott.

"So," she breathed moments later, after she'd caught up with her surprised boyfriend, lightly grabbing his shoulder from behind, grinning brightly, "do you want to go down to the docks or something? Talk or whatever?" she asked, her tone implied, her eyes hopeful.

_No. No, no, no, no. I don't want to talk, I don't want to "whatever," I just want to be alone. I **need** to be alone. _Scott racked his brain for an excuse. Homework, headache? No, she'd want to help him with his history assignment and nurse him back to health with chicken soup and Advil or something. She was looking at him with such a sweet expression he felt bad blowing her off, but now really wasn't the time. He needed to ease his mind, and being with her wouldn't do that right now. "Maybe later, huh? I didn't get much sleep last night – history homework," he explained with a shrug. "I'm gonna take a nap, I'll see you later."

"Are you sure?" Juliette asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, giving her a quick, obligatory kiss on the cheek before he turned away, walking in the direction of his dorm, rubbing his eyes. "Go finish your breakfast, Jules"

------------

More than anything, she longed for quiet. She had a feeling that was why she found herself in this very situation so often. Knees pulled towards her chest, strands of blonde hair tousled in the frigid breeze, white teeth chattering; it was dark, so dark that her blue eyes took several minutes to adjust. She stared at the bright orange flames, dancing in a controlled circle in the center of the gazebo, blue gray smoke pressing past dry lips, lazily floating up, up, up disappearing to locales unknown. Cracking firewood and the rustling of trees provided the only disruptions – otherwise, it was silent; it always was, such a familiar constant.

So was the constant disruption, the constant noise in her head.

Sighing deeply, flicking her cigarette into the fire, Shelby closed her eyes. She needed to stop remembering, to thinking, to stop worrying, to stop contemplating, if only for a few hours. She was so envious of the other girls, of their ability to simply put their heads to their pillows and fall asleep, night after night, often like clockwork. She'd tried to convince herself that she could do the same – she just hadn't quite figured out how. Attempting to relax, she tried to keep her breathing even, tried to lull her thoughts to sleep so she could return to her dorm, and her body could follow suit.

The snap of a twig behind her put a nix on the idea of relaxation.

Tensing immediately, Shelby turned slowly, preparing an excuse for Peter or Sophie, thankful she'd already tossed her cancer stick. It was the difference between an extra shift in the kitchen and chopping wood. Granted neither was glamorous, but she'd prefer to don a pair of yellow rubber gloves than bestow a smattering of painful blisters across her hands, an unpleasant additional punishment accompanying the wielding of an ax.

"Anyone sitting here?"

Jerking her head back more quickly, Shelby smiled, relieved, every muscle in her body relaxing. Patting the empty space on the bench next to her, she decided against chewing Craig out thoroughly, simply grateful that the concepts of blisters and dish pan hands weren't included in her immediate future. Exhaling quietly, she watched him as he rounded the side of the structure, taking a seat beside her, casually put his arm around the back of the bench. "You start breaking the rules early, don't you?" Shelby commented, turning to him with a slight smirk.

Craig shrugged, staring into the fire, his smirk matching hers. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he shook his head at the cigarette she offered. "Yeah, well, some are a little hard to abide by. I don't do the whole bedtime thing, I haven't dealt with that since I was what, five? I don't get how going to sleep early is supposed to help me out."

Shelby toyed with her shoelace, tucking her pack of cigarettes back in her jacket pocket. "Trying to quit?" she mocked playfully, laughing slightly at his quick rejection. "Anyway, I've always thought that what they don't know won't hurt them."

Her smirk grew wider as she noted his relaxed, albeit slightly cocky demeanor, his body language. There was something appealing about that, she'd decided; he continued to smirk right back at her, chocolate brown eyes sparkling in silent agreement, eyebrows rising and falling playfully. The expression covering his face made her laugh quietly and she ducked her head, breaking eye contact. When she looked back up, he was still peering at her, his eyes still playful, but more serious. He was staring into her and she could feel his face coming closer, his breath on her cheek.

His hand on her cheek.

His lips on her lips.

Well then.

Her eyes closed, her lips moving against his, and she waited for something to happen. Fireworks, sparks, the quieting of the noise in her head – something, anything to signify that this was something special, something exceptional, something real. But the earth beneath her failed to move, time didn't stand still, and there weren't even goosebumps crawling up and down her arms. She was still aware of every cricket chirping, every crack made by the singed fire wood. She didn't feel safe or comforted or understood. It just wasn't there. As much as she wanted it to be, it wasn't. He was brave, she'd give him that much.

Placing her palm against his chest, she pulled away, her eyes cast downward. "Craig – "

Both her body language and her voice were telling. Craig quickly back off, leaning back on the bench, his hands grasping unruly masses of hair on either side of his head, his actions a mix of embarrassment and perhaps a little frustration. "I'm sorry. I was way too forward, I haven't even known you that long – "

Shelby sighed, immensely hating the awkwardness, hating that it wasn't what she'd hoped it be, hating that she'd allowed her hopes to rise, even the slightest bit, when she knew from the start that it wouldn't. "It's ok. I just – I can't.

Craig looked slightly confused. "What about all of those signals you were sending me"

Now it was Shelby's turn to look bewildered. She knew she could be a bitch, but did being nice mean she automatically wanted in the guy's pants? "Signals? What signals?"

"All the other Tracker guys said that you were into me; that you were sending me signals – "

Shelby rolled her eyes. _How typical_, she thought to herself, shaking her head. "Those guys would," she spat, her tone venomous, but she quickly softened. "Listen, Craig, you're a great guy, and a great friend – but that's all I want from you. I'm sorry if I somehow lead you to believe anything different."

Craig got up abruptly. "Yeah, whatever"

Shock was evident on her face. She'd just issued one of the cheesiest, but most genuine, apologies she could muster, for something she really had nothing to be sorry about, and he was going to be pissed off? Shelby was legitimately stunned, springing up from her spot on the bench, following Craig the few feet he'd covered, her voice, her incredulous tone, causing him to pause. "Are you mad?"

"No. Not at all."

His tone was sarcastic and she could feel her mouth hanging open. This was hardly the reaction she expected, and she knew good and well that this was definitely not the reaction she deserved. "Look, I said I'm sorry!" Shelby protested, her tone taking on a harder edge, a glare threatening her gaze. As she expected, he was already wilting. Try as he might to hide it, Craig was a legitimate nice guy – his asshole capabilities only extended so far for so long. Knowing this, Shelby capitalized. "You know, fine, we won't even be friends. Is that what you want?"

Craig slowly looked up, guilt written all over his face, hardened features melting like ice cream on a hot summer day. Checkmate, Shelby, checkmate. "I never said that"

"Then what's with the attitude?"

"What attitude?"

Shelby gave him a look. Insinuating she was an idiot would get him nowhere, though she knew that wasn't his intention. "Look, don't be mad at me. There are just certain things – this isn't a good time. You and I will be much better friends than we'll ever be, well, anything else. Just accept this for what it is, okay?"

"Is there someone else?"

He sounded a little like a desperate girl, begging a guy to take her to prom, only to find out he already had a date with the hottest girl in school. Shelby found it to be an interesting hybrid cross between endearing and annoying. Leaning more towards endearing, she decided to go for honesty. Craig was probably as harmless as you could get at Horizon. "Sort of – not really – it's complicated. _I'm_ complicated."

Craig smiled slightly. He wasn't about to argue with that statement. He hadn't known her long, but Shelby Merrick was like a difficult jigsaw puzzle, or perhaps a Rubik's cube. She was confusing, and at times, exasperating. Just when you thought you figured her out, that you had the solution, you'd realize you were absolutely, positively dead wrong. Yet despite the frustration, you couldn't step away. You wanted to keep twisting and turning, hoping you'd be the one to make everything click into place.

He couldn't deny it, she fascinated him. But he was smart enough to realize that it was entirely possible that he wasn't the only guy to try to "solve" Shelby Merrick – and he wasn't the only guy who'd been told, essentially, that she didn't want to be solved. He could accept that. "Look, I'm sorry for being such an asshole. If you're not interested, you're not interested. And you know, I guess at least being friends with a girl like you is good enough for me."

He winked and she felt the tension ease off her shoulders. Shelby smiled, coloring slightly, suddenly feeling exhausted. "All right – I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast then?"

"Of course."

"Night, Craig."

"Sleep well, Shelb."

Right

------------

The conditions at Horizon were always constantly changing – so much so that he thought it bordered on schizophrenia. Could weather be schizophrenic? Or was it bipolar? He wasn't sure but it was the best description he could come up with. One day it'd be freezing, fat ivory flakes of frozen precipitation falling from the sky, blanketing the campus in white, requiring boots and gloves; the next, it'd be sunny and warm enough for short sleeves, the ground damn and soggy in the wake of rapidly melting snow. He liked the variation. His life had always been regimented in a sense; he'd always had a routine, a schedule. It was always A, B, C, followed by X, Y, and Z, in that order, over, and over, and over again, every day. It was only when he was away from it – away from football, away from the expectations, away from his home, even – that he realized that his secret with Elayne wasn't the only thing that'd been suffocating him.

He liked to be challenged, he needed to be challenged. He wasn't ready to deal with the ultimate challenge; he wasn't sure if he would ever be. Telling his father what went on in his bedroom, telling him what his wife did to his son, even as he begged her to stop – how could he_ ever_ explain that? He didn't know. So until then, he'd take baby steps. Change, even in its smallest, seemingly unimportant forms, was a challenge. It kept him on his toes.

The weather had, indeed, changed, from frigid and cold the previous day, to balmy and gorgeous the next afternoon. The campus was awash in t-shirts, shorts, and ponytails. Footballs were tossed, basketballs were shot, frisbees were caught; laughter filled the air – it was more Noxzema commercial than brooding, troubled youths. However, the weather wasn't the only thing that had changed. Scott had woken up in a good mood, feeling well rested, and surprisingly calm. Considering his demeanor the previous morning, he'd completed a 180 degree turn, as far as attitude went.

The chipper version of Scott Barringer was, however, to be short lived, followed by another 180 in the opposite, less cheerful direction. Not long after a lunch where the food didn't seem to taste as awful, and his fellow group members didn't seem nearly as annoying, his mood soured, and his positive reaction to change quickly went south. All it took was a minute long exchange with a few Tracker acquaintances, a bit of gossip, to send him stalking off, face hardened, fists clenched.

He moved quickly, fluidly, like a man on a mission, or perhaps a man possessed. Across the common room, through the dining hall, out the doors; turn, look left, look right, look – bingo. Forward progress, target recognized, target locked on. Step, step, stop for a moment to compose yourself, Barringer. Pause.

All right, engage.

"Hey buddy."

Craig looked up from his magazine, the voice fairly unfamiliar. He stared for a moment before it all registered. Not noticing Scott's red face, his greeting through gritted teeth, or remembering the not-so-friendly exchanged they'd shared while looking for Gracie, he remained relaxed and calm. "Uh, hey, Scott, right? What's up, man?"

_Man? Man! Don't talk to me like I'm your friend, you disgusting little shit_, Scott seethed, clenching his fists tighter, rage even more visible across his features. "You tell me"

Craig looked confused, now realizing that the big, athletic kid in front of him, who had at least twenty pounds of muscle on him, didn't exactly look or sound happy. But he was clueless, not sure what to say or do. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to piss this guy off. "I don't know what you're looking for, dude – "

"Oh you don't huh?" Scott laughed bitterly, the sound emitting from his throat maniacal. "Maybe you should think a little harder." He paused, giving Craig a moment to redeem himself. When his expression still remained blank, Scott's heart began pounding; his blood boiling at what he was sure was a record level. He recalled what the Trackers said, before pressing forward.

"_Lynch was with Shelby last night after lights out again. We heard him leave the dorm a couple minutes after Shelby usually peaces out – she's like clockwork, you know? I don't think the chick sleeps like, ever. Anyway, John went to get a cig from the wood shed and he saw him kiss her – she wasn't into it, pushed him away and all. Yeah, man, I was surprised too, but he didn't seem to want to take no for an answer. He sounded really pissed off. J said she looked pretty upset. He came back to get us, but by the time we all decided it was safe to go out there, Craig came back. We gave him some shit for being out after lights out but he just went to bed. That kid is shady, man."_

Scott didn't know that the story was almost completely fabricated – that the only truth was John going out for a cigarette and seeing Craig kiss Shelby – or that John felt threatened by Craig, since his "girl" Madeline, had been paying much less attention to him, and spending an awful lot of time with Craig since he'd arrived. He didn't know that the Tracker boys were using him for payback – Scott was far too irrational, far too heated to even consider it. "What I'm looking for, _dude _– fucking a, drop the act! I heard you tried to force yourself on Shelby last night," Scott growled, his anger clearly escalating with every passing second. "Where I come from, no means no, you little prick."

Craig stood up, disbelief written all over his face. Force himself on Shelby! He'd backed off as soon as he made it clear he wasn't interested! Sure, he'd acted like a jerk for a moment, but otherwise he'd been every bit the gentleman his mother had raised him to be. Where did this guy get off? "Force myself on her? Look, man, I don't know what you heard, but I think you're – "

But he was already on the ground, before he could finish, compliments of a blow to the nose, from none other than Scott Barringer

"Man, what's your problem," Craig yelled, starting to push himself up, only to be tackled right back down, Scott's weight weighing heavily on his ribs. Realizing this was not the time to be passive, as Scott clearly wasn't letting up, Craig began fighting back, the two teens rolling around on the soggy ground, mud mixing with blood as a crowd of students gathered around, whispering amongst themselves. Fists flew and legs jerked as the boys appeared to be taking turns beating the living crap out of each other. Auggie was the only one in the crowd who tried to separate the two, but Scott's elbow to his face sent him flying back, sliding across the muddy grass, quickly convincing him to give up and join the other spectators.

However, the noise and fervor outside could only go unnoticed for so long

"What in the HELL is going on here!" Peter's voice boomed across the campus, quieting everyone as he ran towards the scene as best he could without slipping. The students immediately dispersed and Scott quickly scrambled off Craig, his cheek bleeding, his white t-shirt and jeans adorned with mud, blood, and bits of green grass. He was, however, in much better shape than Craig, clutching his side as he struggled to stand up, his nose bleeding heavily. Peter looked between the two of them, exasperated. The looks on their faces were extremely telling: Scott, angry and still heated, Craig, dazed and confused. Knowing both of the boy's personalities, it didn't take long for him to pin the likely instigator.

"Scott, my office, RIGHT NOW! Craig, go to the infirmary and get yourself cleaned up; I'll talk to you there later," he ordered, all the while staring hard at Scott, who begrudgingly slunk off towards Peter's office, a scowl fixed on his face.

------------


	7. the scott barringer shit show, take two!

Disclaimer in previous chapters still applies

**Authors Note**: Once again, sorry for taking so long to update, I'm still not giving up on this fic! The truth of the matter is, it seems the further I get into the original story, it gets even more poorly written. I mean, I look at some of the things I wrote and I'm just downright ashamed :-! So now I just kind of wait for inspiration to strike, and it came to me tonight while I was watching Gilmore Girls DVD's (By the way, I'm liking 'Mount Horizon' by Wildly Obsessed so far, I hope she updates eventually because its really well written and something kind of different!), don't ask. I typed this up in about an hour, everything just started pouring out, so I apologize for any typos, etc. I'm not going to put a date on the next chapter, but it should be pretty soon because it'll be short – it's more or less to connect this chapter and the next (which is REALLY poorly written, probably the worst of them all to be honest) – but I'm in a groove so I'll see what I can do. Reviews (good and bad!) and suggestions are always inspiring :-)

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The room was completely silent, aside from the sound of heavy footsteps, as Peter paced back and forth in front of his desk. He was confused, he was angry – he was exasperated, completely and utterly exasperated. This kid was running out chances. Keeping him there after the stunt he pulled his very first week, what with the running away coupled with breaking an entering, had been tough enough; for all intents and purposes, Frank was ready to send him on his way with a "good luck and good riddance." Peter had convinced his mentor to let him stay, but it was made clear that Scott was on probation. Though he didn't know it, this left Scott floating in a proverbial lifeboat. Another day like today, he'd be clinging to a flimsy lifesaver. Another still and he'd be an extra from _Titanic_ – dead in the water, on his way back home. Peter didn't like to think about the possibility, but Scott gave him little choice. Sure, it wasn't out of the ordinary for these kids to be resistant and downright volatile at first, but Scott wasn't a newbie anymore. He'd been learning, he'd been growing – baby steps, but still, it was forward progress regardless. The incident with Craig was only one giant step back for him, and Peter was simply dumbstruck as to why. He'd gathered that Scott wasn't a huge fan of Craig, but had ventured that it wasn't much to worry about, especially since the two were in separate groups. Apparently, it seemed his reasoning was completely off. What the hell was it about this seemingly harmless guy that pushed Scott's buttons to incite such a reaction?

"What went on out there, Scott?" he questioned finally, breaking the silence, frustration evident in his voice. "I thought we had your anger under control."

Scott could feel Peter's gaze bearing down on him, sharp and heavy, but he refused to advert his eyes, keeping them glued on the spine of one of the books on Peter's bookshelf. _Walden_ by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Huh. Scott didn't think Peter was the type – he was surprised anyone was the type. He was supposed to read it earlier in the year, write some kind of essay on it for his Literature class. He'd thumbed through the thin paperback copy one night when his father and Elaine were out of town – they'd be back home the next night – glancing at the black typeface as each page passed him by, not bothering to read so much as a sentence, before tossing it on the floor with his dirty laundry. That was about as close to trying as he got. He hadn't bothered to show up for class the day the assignment was due, choosing to skip school all together in favor or getting high under a bridge with new "friends" whose names he didn't even know. Realizing Peter was waiting for some kind of explanation, Scott spoke, his voice entirely flat. "It is under control. I just don't like him."

"Why!" Peter demanded, crouching down, cutting off the blonde's view of _Walden_ causing him to advert his eyes. Peter moved once again; Scott gazed away. They kept it up until Scott gave up, answering Peter's steely gaze with his own, emotionless and aloof. "What'd he do to make you so angry, Scott?"

He was biting the inside of his lip, and the staring contest was slowly breaking him down. He had no idea how Peter did it, but he had a way of getting inside of Scott's head without much direct effort. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He tore his eyes away from Peter's, staring out the window at nothing in particular – students ran by, laughing and talking, but he didn't see them. He was too busy building up his walls again. "Nothing. Nothing at all. He's just a loser. He's weak. He needed to be put in his place, that's all."

Peter stared at Scott for a long time, following his gaze out the window, noticing the absolutely empty, vacant look in his eyes, his tense facial features. He could sit here and talk to this kid until he was blue in the face, but he wasn't going to get anywhere. He knew that. He knew perhaps better than anyone else, because he saw so much of himself in Scott. Maybe that's why he'd pushed so hard for Frank to let him stay, why he gave him so many second, third, and fourth chances, why he was so desperate to uncover Scott's inner demons. Sure, he knew the story at face value; it was all in the intake file, just as it was for every other student. Scott's read like a bad Lifetime TV movie: drugs, alcohol, plummeting grades, and getting kicked off the football team, a downward spiral that had transformed Scott, Mr. All-American boy, the kind of kid any parent would love to call their son, into an unfortunate statistic. That was all obvious, but why? A lot of kids at Horizon had been born and raised in dire situations. But this kid had it all, and for all intents and purposes, he'd been happy having it all. He didn't just throw it away for no reason.

"Fine," Peter said stiffly, walking in front of the window, looking out over the campus, leaving Scott to stare at his turned back. "You're on shuns _and_ kitchens until our next quest on Saturday – before we head out, you'll turn in a _two thousand _word essay on anger as a human emotion. And I don't want to see you anywhere **near **Craig. Otherwise, _another_ phone call to your parents will be necessary."

For the first time, Scott's facial expression, hard and cold, wavered. For a brief moment, he considered begging Peter not to pick up the phone, not to call his father, not to send him home. He'd do anything, say anything – make that essay four thousand words long, he'd do it, hell, maybe he'd even do that long overdue essay on _Walden_ and mail it to his Lit teacher – just don't pick up that phone. But the moment passed, and a shadow crossed over Scott's face, realizing Peter's turned back would suffice for a dismissal. "Yeah, do whatever you want," Scott mumbled, shoving his hands deep within his pockets, fingers tightly crossed as he walked out the door.

--------

Shelby woke up that morning with a smile on her face. A real, legitimate smile.

Kat had placed a hand on her forehead while Juliette hid beneath a comforter and Daisy formed a cross with her fingers. She'd rolled her eyes at their lame dramatics, but she remained pleasant. She hadn't had a single nightmare the night before, the first time in months that she hadn't sat up in bed, every hour on the hour, heart pounding wildly. Aside from being able to sleep through the night, resolving things with Craig the night before had lifted a huge weight off her shoulders. If there was, by some miracle, coffee waiting for her in the dining hall, she was afraid that she might break down and cry tears of joy. Of course, she wasn't that lucky. In fact, she'd been late for breakfast; the dining hall was nearly empty and she'd been stuck with one of the last platters of food. Her fruit salad was mushy, her eggs looked rubbery – so much so that they reminded her of the play food she used to "cook up" for her mother on her brightly colored plastic play stove when she was younger – and they were out of regular, so her orange juice was full of pulp; she hated pulp.

But for some reason, even the dismal breakfast didn't dampen Shelby's mood. She dumped her mostly full plate in the trash, bursting out of the dining hall into the sunshine, eager to feel the warmth on her arms. As she made her way down the stairs, she noticed Craig coming out the door of the infirmary. Maybe he'd actually eaten the eggs at breakfast she thought, holding back laughter. But as she made her way closer to him, eager to tease him about his first taste of Horizon food poisoning, her smile faded. There were bandages on Craig's face; the skin along the left side of his chin was an ugly dark purple, and she noticed a bulge on the right side of his body under his t-shirt – a massive ice pack covering almost his entire side. "What happened to you!"

Craig tried to force a smile, but he couldn't. He was too tired, too sore, and too fed up to bother with niceties. "I ran into a wall," he said bitterly, lightly massaging his chin, his mouth fixed in a scowl, "a wall named Scott Barringer."

Shelby looked blankly at him for a moment, not sure she'd heard right. "Wait, _Scott_ did this to you! Why?"

Craig shrugged. "Hell if I know!" He would have thrown his arms up in the air in an ultimately sarcastic gesture, but it'd kill his already bruised ribs. "Sorry," he continued, though he knew she wasn't offended, "it just came out of nowhere. He totally snapped, said something about some Tracker guys telling him I was forcing myself on you, which was – "

"Total bullshit!" Shelby finished angrily. She wasn't sure what pissed her off more – that the Trackers were using her to advance whatever hidden agenda they had, or that Scott had gone off on this poor guy based on idle gossip that was completely untrue. Craig had been nothing but a gentleman since day one – something Shelby was hardly used to, and something Scott could hardly claim.

"The thing I don't understand" Craig began, cutting into her thoughts, "is that I thought you guys hated each other. But you know, I have to say, he came off as pretty damn protective while he was trying to beat my face it."

Shelby paused. She wasn't quite sure what to say to that. Frankly, she was just as confused as Craig was. Scott always ran so hot and cold with her, it was hard to tell what the hell he was feeling – it had been that way ever since they were kids. They'd been best friends more or less when they were younger; middle school caused them to drift apart, but they were still cordial; high school came around and they were split into separate groups. Scott was outrageously popular, King of the school, admired and desired by the majority of the student body; Shelby, on the other hand, was a nobody, a bad seed who was hardly worthy of someone like Scott's presence. But still, despite their constant bickering and insulting, there had been brief, random moments when they were alone when he treated her like a human being; when he treated her like the best friend, the little girl who'd been obsessed with ballet and My Little Pony, who he'd climbed trees and had slumber parties with when they were younger. Before everything became complicated. Their near lip-lock in the clearing weeks ago had completely thrown her for a loop, causing her to constantly wonder what would have happened if Peter had waited a minute or so more. How would he have reacted? How would she have reacted? What did he mean by 'perfect timing,' exactly? What if, what if, what if? "Yeah, well we do – he does – I don't know. It's … complicated."

Craig immediately recalled what Shelby had said the night before when he'd asked if she was interested in anymore else, the conversation still fresh in his mind, the realization hitting him like a lightening bolt. _"Sort of – not really – it's complicated. I'm complicated_." Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, feeling the sun beating down on his face as he laughed, a cynical, "go-figure" laugh that caused Shelby to look at him curiously. "Jesus Christ, it's him, isn't it?" Shelby's face remained genuinely confused and he sighed, shaking his head. "I asked you last night if you were interested in anyone else and you said it was _complicated_. I ask you if you guys hate each other, and it's _complicated_. It's him. He's the other guy. You're into Barringer, aren't you?" 

Her face drained of all color, and then her cheeks flushed, her dark blue eyes fixed on the ground, suddenly appearing completely enamored with her sneakers. That was all the answer he needed.

"Figures."

Shelby looked up quickly, her eyes settling on him as he looked away, over her shoulder. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked sharply.

He held up his hands, smiling as he shook his head once again. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous; he liked Shelby, sure, but the fact that the guy that had just beat the tar out of him was 'the other man' was kind of like pouring salt in his still open wounds. But it wasn't Shelby's fault; she didn't mean any harm, and it wasn't his style to hold a grudge, or to be nasty just because he didn't get his way. He'd tried to be bitter and jaded, but it just didn't suit him. He'd leave that up to guys like Scott. "Figure's you'd be interested in the football star. That's your type, huh?" Craig teased.

Shelby sighed, relieved he wasn't about to go off on her. "No, he's not 'my type'. It's – it's – it's _not_ something that I wanted to happen. Believe me. If it's even happening … I don't know. Like I said, it's complicated. It's kind of driving me nuts, actually. Like – " Shelby stopped short, taking a deep breath. Not only was she babbling, she was revealing too much to a guy who probably didn't want to hear it. "You know, honestly, I'd rather not talk about it."

"Hey, that's cool, trust me!" Craig assured her, "I've had my fill of Scott Barringer today," he continued, motioning to his jaw as Shelby winced, her eyes flashing with anger. However, his bruised lips slowly twisted into an amused smirk. "But just so you know, when I have a super sexy story about a super sexy girl, and you're just dying to know all the juicy details, I'm not going to tell you, no matter how much you beg."

Shelby laughed, rolling her eyes. "God, what a loss. I don't know how I'll sleep at night," she deadpanned, pausing to glance at his wounds once more, her concern melting away, now replaced with white hot anger. "Listen – I forgot I have to uh, take care of something. With Peter. You know – the thing. Yeah. I'll catch you later."

--------

He'd tried reading _Walden_, grabbing Ezra's copy from his stash beneath his bed. But after a few pages, he gave up. He still didn't get it, and he still had no clue what people saw in this stuff. Stoned or sober as he was now, Scott still had no idea what the hell Emerson was saying. Why couldn't they just speak English – normal English; none of that _Romeo and Juliet_, "Wherefore Art Thou" crap. Someone needed to put Emerson on an IMAX screen, update it with Leonardo DiCaprio or Orlando Bloom, or whoever all the chicks were screaming over these days, and everyone would be a little more clued in.

Until then, he'd settle for paging through the Sports Illustrated 50th Anniversary book his father had mailed him recently. For the past five minutes he'd been staring at a single photograph, capturing a moment football fans knew simply as "The Catch." 1982, AFC Championship Game, San Francisco 49'ers versus the Dallas Cowboys. Dwight Clark's leaping catch via Joe Montana in the back of the end zone to win the game with less than a minute on the clock. They'd go on to become Superbowl champions that year. His father, a lifelong 49'ers fan, had the original cover framed – it hung in Scott's room. For as long as he could remember, his life centered around getting to that point – playing in the NFL, being on the cover of Sports Illustrated, leading his team to victory. It had always been his dream, something he and his father wanted more than anything. As he looked at the photograph he wondered, for the first time since coming to Horizon, if the dream was over. He was losing an entire year of playing time. His association with drugs and his dismal grades prior to coming to Horizon would hardly help matters. God, he'd be lucky if the coach let him back on the team at this point – if he could even get out in time for senior year. Scott felt a lump rising in his throat as he continued to stare at the photograph and he bit down hard on his lower lip – he couldn't believe he was about to cry over this.

"What the hell did you think you were doing!"

The sound of the door slamming and Shelby's shrill voice sent Scott flying back to reality. Swallowing hard, blinking quickly, hoping his eyes weren't too glassy, he turned the page of the book, a full page shot Michael Jordan defying gravity occupying his attention. He didn't bother replying, observing the Chicago Bulls standout before thumbing back a handful of pages, reading the piece on the 1980 "Miracle on Ice" US Olympic hockey team. However, as soon as he reached the blurb on Herb Brooks' speech prior to the gold medal game, the book was ripped from his hands, landing with a loud thud on the floor.

"Don't act like you didn't hear me! Where the hell do you get off!"

Shelby was angry, that much was unmistakably clear. He wasn't an idiot. He got the gist, he knew why. He didn't _understand_ why, he didn't get why she'd stand up for someone who more or less tried to assault her, but then again, he really didn't understand Shelby Merrick. And at this point, he was too tired, too emotionally drained, to try to sort her out. "I'm not supposed to talk. I'm on shuns," he said simply, picking his book up off the floor.

"Since when do you abide by the rules?" she hissed, his complacency pissing her off, knowing full well he snuck out after lights out just as often as she did. Knowing full well that he and Juliette didn't exactly keep their hands to themselves when no one was around. "I'm not going to play games with you Scott, I just want a fucking answer."

Scott looked up at her, half shocked, half disgusted. "I just put the jerk in his place, all right!" he exploded, standing up, throwing the book down on the bed, his cheeks slowly turning red. He wasn't embarrassed, he was heated. "Damnit Shelby, I don't get you! He forces himself on you, and you defend him! I give him a message – you know, no means no? and you're pissed off! You should be _thanking_ me!"

_Thanking him! What, does he want an award? Should I bend down and kiss your feet, King Scott? He's such an egomaniac! _"Scott, he **never** forced himself on me! Are you comprehending! He kissed me, and I told him to back off, which _he did_. God – you know, I know you've got some kind of vendetta against him for whatever stupid macho reason you thought up, but Craig is actually a pretty nice guy." 

Scott rolled his eyes, exasperated. She was still making excuses for this prick? "A pretty nice guy? Why, because he brought protection?"

His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but as soon as the words came out of his mouth, Scott instantly regretted it. Her mouth dropped open and he heard her scream something about him being an asshole, about Craig just being her friend. About Craig respecting her, about how he should try doing the same. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He knew he'd already crossed the line, but he couldn't restrain himself. His mind wasn't communicating with is mouth

"How am I supposed to respect the resident whore?"

Shelby felt like she'd been punched in the stomach, the words he'd just uttered playing over and over again in her lead like a broken record, sinking in, becoming embedded like pieces of broken glass. For a brief moment, she thought she was going to throw up. It was as if he'd just pushed her off a cliff. She was falling, and didn't have anything to hold onto. She tried to think of something to say in return, something that would make him feel just as small and insignificant and low as he'd just made her feel. But she couldn't. She was tired. She was defeated. She was through caring, through trying, through worrying about Scott Barringer and how he really felt about her. He'd just made it all too clear for her. The days of riding bikes and climbing trees and sleepovers were long gone. The incident in the clearing had been a crazy fluke. He was still the football captain, Mr. Popularity, the King of the Universe – and she, well, she was just the resident whore. Case closed.

Scott stood firmly in place for a few moments after she turned on her heel and ran out, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He'd said the worst possible thing at what might have been the worst possible time. He didn't even know why he said it. He just needed a rewind button. If he could only go back and fix it and change it and clean up this mess he'd made. If only he could rewind and pause and make his entire life right. _Snap out of it. You're not going to get a rewind button any time soon, Barringer_, his conscience reminded him in no uncertain terms, sending him bounding out of the dorm, flying down the stairs, forgetting all about shuns and being in a huge deal of trouble and all those inhibitions that would normally hold him back.

"Shelby! Shelby, wait!" Scott called, running after her. She tried to speed up, but he was just too quick. He got in front of her, blocking her way so she had no choice but to face him. "Look, can I just _talk_ to you!"

Shelby looked at him incredulously. Could he _talk_ to her? He said it as if she owed him something! After what he just did, what he just said – and _the way_ he said it! – he should consider keeping his distance for – well, forever! "You know Scott, I think you did enough talking to last a lifetime. You were pretty clear back there, so why don't you just leave me alone! We don't need to talk, because I'm done. I've had enough. _You win_, okay? You won. YOU WON!" she called out, loud enough for all to hear, causing several other students to turn and watch. "I'm not playing this twisted back and forth game that you're into anymore. You go on, you keep _fucking_ around with people's emotions. But I'm out. Find someone else to mess with, because I'm done being your rag doll. I don't need it from you – you don't even know me. You and I have gone to the same school since forever, and you don't know a single goddamn thing about me. But you wouldn't need to know, would you? Different setting, same rules, right? Still fantasy land – football captain dates the Prom Queen, even if she is kissing the kid with the spray paint when you're not looking," she continued, her voice taking on a harder edge, watching Scott's jaw drop as she revealed what she'd seen down at the lake many weeks ago. Juliette and Auggie – apparently peaches and cream Princess was looking for a little salsa in her life. Everyone seemed to know except for Scott, who was obviously too busy stroking his own ego to notice anyone else. "Yeah. Didn't know that, did you? But hey, what do I know? Why would his Royal Guyness listen to the resident whore?"

Her last words were bitter and she turned back in the other direction, desperate to get away from him before she, and the dams behind her eyes holding back a flood of tears, broke down. 

But Scott wasn't so willing to let go, grabbing her wrist and turning her around to face him. "C'mon Shelby. I'm – I'm sorry, okay? At least let me – "

She turned back around, and yanked her wrist free, rubbing it as if Scott had injected her with the Ebola virus, her eyes flashing. The fact that she looked gorgeous when she was angry wasn't lost on him – it just would have been a lot sexier if she didn't look like she wanted to rip his eyeballs out and feed them to Ezra. "Just leave me alone! There's _nothing_ to talk about! Did you hear anything I just said! You're not sorry! Not really, anyway. You're just sorry that you made an ass of yourself in front of all these people," she spat, motioning to the growing crowd, watching from a safe distance. This was more drama than they'd seen in _months_. First the fight with Craig and now this?

The Scott Barringer Shit Show, take two! 

"Look, Shelby, I didn't mean it okay? What I said to you, it was – "

"Like hell you didn't! If you didn't mean it, you wouldn't have said it! You wouldn't have even thought it! My God, you're disgusting," Shelby seethed, gazing at him with a look of pure contempt. She even didn't know it, but she slowly tearing him apart, piece by piece in front of the entire school. If she wasn't so upset, she would have been able to sit back and enjoy the show. But tears were still threatening her eyes. This was the straw that broke the camel's back. It wasn't the first time he'd demeaned her, not even close. But she wasn't going to sit back and take it anymore. She couldn't. She wasn't strong enough. She was breaking down, like a used car. Oh the irony. 'Used car' had preceded 'resident whore' in Scott's verbal arsenal. "Stop trying to make yourself look better just because people are watching, and maybe, just maybe, they'll realize what a prick you really are! Just walk away, Scott, okay? Just swallow your pride and walk away. Deal with it. What's done is done."

And with that, Shelby stalked off – this time, he didn't bother going after her. This time, as everyone stared at him, whispering among themselves, he was too tired, too defeated, too broken down inside. "Real smooth, Barringer. Real smooth," Scott mumbled to himself, beginning to walk back to his dorm without so much as a glance at those who were watching him. As he climbed the stairs, he tried to tell himself that she deserved it. That he'd just been telling the truth.

But all day, he couldn't stop kicking himself, especially when Shelby didn't show up for group. Sophie announced she was sick, and both she and Peter appeared oblivious to what had transpired that afternoon – why Shelby was really absent – and though his fellow Cliffhangers knew all too well, they said nothing, though the withering glares Daisy and Kat periodically shot him didn't go unnoticed. Juliette was staring at him, hurt and confused. He should have been angry about her kissing Auggie. He should have scowled at her, glared at her, anything – but when it came right down to it, he didn't even care. And as he lay in bed that night, watching shadows from the movement of the trees outside passing over the ceiling, he told himself that he should care. She was his girlfriend, it would really make sense for him to give a shit if she was going around, kissing other guys. But he couldn't. He could barely even think about it for more than a few seconds without being distracted. Because really, all he could think about was what had happened with Shelby that afternoon. And how frankly, he should be happy, or at least relieved. After all, he'd gotten away with it. No additional punishments, no additional manual labor – nothing, nada, zip. But he couldn't convince himself she deserved it. He couldn't feel happy, or relieved. Because deep down, all he could feel was guilt. Heavy, consuming guilt that made him more nauseous than the time he'd went on the tilt-o-whirl after eating two bags of cotton candy, a couple hot dogs, and a chocolate sundae. The tears in her eyes hadn't been lost on him.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far, far away, Shelby Merrick had been his best friend. Sure, they'd bickered and competed, even back then, but he'd cared about her, as much as a little boy who was convinced girls had cooties could. He'd gone to the hospital with her when she broke her arm, sent her a handmade card when she got the chicken pox, and vowed to beat up anyone who ever tried to mess with her on the playground.

Fast forward to the present day, and he was calling her a whore. He was making her cry. He was screwing everything up, per usual.

His six year old self would have kicked his ass.

He knew would have deserved it.


	8. peter initiates WWIII

Disclaimer in previous chapters still applies.

**Authors Note**: I told you I'd get this one out a little quicker! This chapter is much longer than the original, but it's still shorter than most of the others so far. Like I said, it just serves to connect to Chapter 9, which I'll get out ASAP, though I must admit it may take a while. Also worth noting – I've decided to go in a different direction with this story than I originally planned when I first wrote it. The original idea was certainly more dramatic, but a lot less realistic. I'd rather focus on digging more into the characters, Scott and Shelby in particular, and their issues/personalities than going for shock value with over the top drama. I think the end product will be better because of that, hopefully you'll agree!

Oh, and I don't usually do this, because I really do love **_any_** reviews I get (HINT: I'm being greedy, I know, but 80 reviews before I post Chapter 9 would be lovely ;)), but I want to say a special thank you to **Queen of Shadows**. Your review really picked me up, and gave me a kick in the butt to get this chapter finished and up. I really appreciate it, and I love that you're enjoying the story so much, it means a lot :)

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It was a muggy morning, disgustingly sticky and uncomfortable. It was one of those days made for staying inside, preferably in front of an air conditioning vent, maybe even on top of one if you were feeling exceptionally hot, and even more selfish. Of course, Peter was hardly concerned about the rising heat. No, not even Juliette's incessant whining about her hair frizzing and her pristine glands emitting, yes, brace yourselves – sweat! – could deter their leader's grand plan. He'd planned their quest for that Saturday morning, and off-the-chart humidity be damned, they were going to stomp through the woods right on schedule! And so the Cliffhangers had been called from their beds extra early to push their breakfast around their plates in almost complete silence. Both Peter and Sophie had assumed the group's usual morning banter was MIA due to the early hour; the dark circles under Shelby's eyes only cemented their belief. Of course, somehow, they were still completely oblivious to the verbal shot heard round Horizon Shelby had delivered last night. Of course, the students were just as clueless to the fact that the school itself was in trouble, namely in desperate need of money, and Peter, due to conversations with Chloe, and more importantly, his father, wasn't all there.

The only notable exchange that morning occurred between Scott and Juliette, and even then, it was a matter of simplicity. Rather than screaming at her across the table for being unfaithful, or putting his fist through Auggie's face, the likely scenario had he found out about her infidelity right after it'd happened, he ended their 'relationship' rather quietly. She'd asked him an asinine question in line while he was waiting for the bowl of slop that Horizon's finest dubbed oatmeal. In no mood for small talk, having gotten very little sleep the night before, Scott relayed in very clear terms, in a rather calm tone, that he knew she'd kissed Auggie. Juliette's face had drained of all color, and she looked like she'd been slapped. Scott, however, pressed on, and proceeded to tell her that it was over. Period. And then he'd grabbed his tray, walking back to the table as if nothing had happened. There was no screaming, no yelling, no throwing of salt and pepper shakers. Juliette had a cry in the bathroom, Scott drank his milk, and Shelby, who'd been standing behind Juliette, heard the entire exchange, but barely blinked. She was too busy contemplating twenty different ways to kill Scott with her butter knife, without getting caught; or to at least cut his jewels off. It was the very least she was owed, wasn't it?

Following breakfast, the group scattered across the lawn, warily eyeing an impressive pile of packs assembled near the lodge where Peter stood, talking to Sophie in hushed tones. She'd known he hadn't been himself lately, and was finally managing to wrangle the truth out of him regarding Horizon's financial woes. Meanwhile, as the elders discussed strategy, and what would be the best, most feasible path to take in order to save the school, Ezra laid himself out on a patch of grass, limbs strewn languorously. Looking up at the sky, he groaned, babbling to himself about the heat and hell and Peter being Satan. Nearby, Auggie laughed, shaking his head at Ezra's incomprehensible moaning. "Suck it up, EZ, we haven't even left yet!"

Ezra moaned louder in response. "I'm not built for this!" he exclaimed, covering his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes several times before propping himself up on his elbows. Wiping his damp brow, he glanced to his right at Scott, sitting atop a picnic table, staring at Shelby, who appeared to be besotted with her fingernails, what was left of them anyway. He'd noticed she'd been diligently gnawing on them since breakfast. Pushing himself up a bit more, Ezra nudged Auggie slightly, a smirk crossing his features. "Did you see that fight last night?"

Auggie laughed, nodding knowingly, his answer obvious. Who hadn't seen it, or at least heard about it? Well, aside from Peter and Sophie, a minor miracle if there ever was one. "Scott and Shelby? Yeah, I saw 'em. It was pretty intense, huh? Shelby was pissed off; I thought she was going to punch him if he kept following her. I bet if we had a video camera, it would have made one of those FOX TV specials. They'd call it 'When Cliffhangers attack'."

Ezra shrugged. "I'm kind of partial to 'When Troubled Teens Attack'," he replied, frowning slightly. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed no one's hair got pulled out." He was quiet again for a moment, before his eyes suddenly lit up. "You know what could have made it better? If Juliette would have joined in, _that _would have been prime time worthy." Auggie shot him a warning look at the mention of Juliette, but Ezra ignored it, too wrapped up with all too appealing images floating through the corridors of his mind. "Yeah, if Juliette and Shelby would have wrestled in pudding; butterscotch pudding, that would have been perfect. A little too risqué for Fox, though; maybe Showtime could carry it, or Pay-Per-View. Playboy meets the Ultimate Fighting Championship," he mussed, a dreamy look crossing his face.

Auggie pulled his pack out of the pile, getting it situated on his back. Adjusting the straps, he shook his head, a look of irritated disbelief fading into a half smile. He couldn't be angry about the objectification; besides, in a weird, twisted way, it did sound appealing. Make that a very weird and twisted way. But frankly, Ezra was too harmless. Grabbing another pack from the pile, he allowed it to drop down on Ezra's chest. "Sometimes you really freak me out man, you know that?"

Ezra smiled, nudging the pack onto the ground, placing his hand over his heart. "Why thank you. I'm touched!"

----------

Across the yard, Daisy and Juliette sat next to each other on a picnic table bench, completely oblivious to the details, or even existence, of Ezra's fantasy made-for-TV smackdown. Instead, they both focused on Shelby, who sat a couple hundred yards away from them, a hard scowl seemingly tattooed on her face as she alternated between biting her nails and ripping bits of grass from the earth, tearing them up into tiny little pieces. She allowed them to accumulate in her palm before allowing her curled fingers to go slack, tiny green specks falling back towards the ground. She'd dust her hands off and begin the banal process again, never once looking up

Both girls were paying attention.

Daisy watched because Shelby intrigued her. If she would have said that out loud, she knew people would make assumptions, as if it were something sexual. She'd been called a lesbian, a dyke more than once before, not at Horizon, but back at her old school. Observation was often mistaken for something else. The accusations never bothered her too much; frankly, Daisy was comfortable with her sexually. _She_ knew she was straight as an arrow, screw what other people think they know; but she hated assumptions. It was clichéd, but she had always agreed with her aunt's, her father's sister's, take on assumptions. "To assume makes an ass out of u and me" she'd told her niece emphatically on more than one occasion. Daisy took it to heart, which might have been why she was the only Cliffhanger who didn't take Shelby at face value. There was something dark and disturbing and heartbreaking about her, though Daisy could never put her finger on it. It was terrible to put some kind of value on someone's damage, as if one damaged individual was more important than another, but she had a strong feeling that Shelby's issues were much deeper, much more horrific, than anyone else in the group, herself included. Shelby was strong, she knew, but not nearly as durable as she appeared. It was a façade, a veneer she relied on and served her well, but Daisy knew all about masks, about hiding. Some were visible and obvious; she hid behind gothic makeup. At the same time, others were invisible and much more difficult to penetrate. Shelby hid behind her own artfully constructed barrier, keeping everyone at arms length, never allowing anyone to get too close. Because frankly, if anyone got too close, the barriers would weaken; they'd be much easier to chip away, and reality would be exposed.

Daisy knew that perhaps more than anything else, Shelby was impossibly, deathly afraid of being exposed.

She noticed and knew why Juliette was paying attention too. Chances are, if she hadn't been sitting with Katherine, who'd been consoling a 'broken hearted' Juliette prior to receiving a phone call from home, Daisy wouldn't have noticed the breakup until someone had told her. While Juliette was no doubt troubled, she was easy to figure out. So Daisy didn't waste much time analyzing her. She knew, of course, that Juliette had never fully opened up in group; none of them had, and it was likely that none of them ever would. Everyone always carries a secret, no matter how small. However, she was far more forthcoming than say, Scott or Shelby. It was easier to piece together. Juliette's mother demanded perfection; living in a world that involved revolving door of step-fathers and a glitzy, high society lifestyle, Juliette just wanted to conform. To be her mothers picture perfect ideal was to be loved, to be worthwhile. Enter bulimia, diet pills and subsequent feelings of shame due to the former. Quell the inner pain due to the shame of not being able to live up to her mother's ideals with a sharp object and letting of blood in an attempt to make physical pain override emotional.

Tragic, of course, but not worth over-analyzing.

Daisy knew Juliette wasn't in love with Scott, or vice versa, that much was clear. But they had cared for each other; he'd cared for her, given her a sense of worth, and now she was afraid of all of that disappearing. Juliette needed someone to prop her up and keep her going; she was fragile not just physically, but emotionally, no doubt due to the cold environment she'd encountered due to her mother's upbringing. She needed people, namely Scott, or so she had herself convinced. The fight the previous night, the shift of Scott's attentions towards Shelby, and the breakup that morning all signaled that the person she felt she needed the most had slipped away. She knew Shelby fit into the equation, but she couldn't quite figure out how. It scared her.

"That was some fight last night. I don't think I've heard that many profanities used since the last time mom and dad duked it out" Daisy finally spoke up, rolling her eyes. Juliette didn't respond her quixotic gaze still fixed on Shelby; Daisy cocked a single eyebrow, pressing on. "I think Shelby handled herself really well. Whatever he said to her, 'resident whore' … it was out of line. None of us really know anything about her, who are we to judge?"

Juliette frowned. "Shelby's a toad. She treats everyone else like dirt; you get what you give, right?"

"Yes, the whole karma boomerang, if you believe in that. But you have to dig a little deeper than that, sometimes. To everything there is a reason; you never know what lies beneath," she answered, almost thoughtfully.

"Beneath Shelby?" Juliette laughed slightly, incredulously. "All that's behind her stone walls are more stone walls. If there's even a heart in there, it's jet black and the size of a pea. Everyone knows it."

Daisy rolled her eyes again, almost imperceptibly. Typical. Typical and just so wrong. "Things aren't always as simple as they seem," she replied cryptically, her voice low, flashing a huge, fake grin in response to Juliette's weirded-out expression as Peter and Sophie finally moved from their corner, motioning for the Cliffhangers to join them.

Once Shelby dragged herself across the lawn, abandoning her grass ripping expedition, Peter observed the group for a moment, making sure they were all situated and paying attention before he spoke up. "All right. Today's exercise has to deal with teamwork. You'll all be in pairs with the exception of one group, which will be a threesome." He paused for a moment, eyeing them as he waited for someone to giggle, or crack a joke at the mention of the word 'threesome,' but even Ezra seemed to take it in stride. "Ok, as for the teams …"

Daisy looked over at Juliette as Peter studied the paper on the clipboard in his hands. "This could be interesting."

Group number one, Daisy and Auggie."

Daisy and Auggie both shrugged, and went over to Sophie for their map.

Peter cleared his throat. "Group #2 will be our group of three: Juliette, Kat, and Ezra."

Ezra, who stood in the middle of the two girls, smiled widely, slinging his arms around the girl's shoulders. He nodded in approval at Peter, who refrained from commenting, merely shaking his head. However, provoked by the pleas clearly written across the girl's faces, Sophie fixed him with a look, and he immediately shrunk back.

Slowly but surely, everyone turned to glance at Scott and Shelby, the reality and gravity of the situation becoming frighteningly clear; Shelby was already glowering at Peter, her mouth fixed in a tight line, her cheeks turning pink. She looked as though she might explode. Daisy had been more than correct; for this scenario 'interesting' was an understatement.

"Which leaves team number three to be," he paused and smiled, "Scott and Shelby"

Scott winced, and Shelby's face hardened even more. She wasn't sure if she wanted to punch Scott, punch Peter, or hang herself. She contemplated faking intense cramps, but reminded herself she'd attempted the same excuse months ago; it hadn't worked, Peter sent her to the infirmary where the nurse removed two Midol tablets from a heavily locked, heavily guarded medicine cabinet, and watched her swallow them down, checking to make sure she hadn't hidden them under her tongue or elsewhere. As if she was going to save them and overdose months later on menstrual meds. Realizing resistance was futile, Shelby glared at Scott and then Peter, before grabbing her pack and turning away, furiously fighting to hold back a hellishly long stream of obscenities and insults.


	9. for once

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it. 

AN: It's aliiiiiiiiive! I know, its been what, two years? I apologize times a million. I hope those of you who stuck with this story are still around to read, because above all, this is for you. I have a million excuses as to why I didn't get this out sooner. Life, mostly, but it didn't help that I was cringing every few seconds as I read the original version of this chapter. Yes, my friends, it was that bad. Whereas with the other chapters, I was able to merely add on, and switch the wording up, with this one, I basically had to gut it – I tore it apart and started from scratch. I'm still not happy with it, but I killed the original chapter; it's dead, and I hope I never see it again. Ever. Insert shudder here.

I can't tell you when the next chapter will come - I now know better than to give a time frame. But I'm still here, and it'll be completed eventually. Hopefully.

Oh, and maybe its just my computer, but I feel like every time I upload this, takes a space out between my periods and the first letter of the next sentence, so its just one rather than two. It bugs me, so I figure it might bug you, so I feel the need to say sorry for that too!

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A half hour on and neither had said a word. She walked ahead of him, arms swinging briskly, her face devoid of emotion. As he trailed behind her, he thought of what seemed like a million things he could have said, ranging from corny comments about how ridiculous the weather was – the humidity was beginning to subside; it got cooler and cooler the farther they walked – to a full blown, heartfelt apology for what he'd said the night before. He knew he had been completely out of line, and frankly, he was still unsure of why he'd said it to begin with. Granted he'd called her a lot of names before, and sometimes he'd meant what he said, or at least he thought he did.

But this time, it was different. This time, he had no idea where it came from, and more than anything, he wanted to take it back. This time he _hadn't_ meant it, and he _was_ sorry – really, legitimately sorry, and not just because so many people had seen him, as she'd so diligently insisted, tears glistening in her eyes.

Jesus Christ, the tears.

He couldn't blink without seeing those dark blue eyes, looking so hurt, so betrayed.

All night long, sleep denying him completely, he thought back to his first-grade self, the little boy with a crazy mop of blonde curls who would have beat the crap out of his teenage counterpart if he knew how he was treating his best friend; about how things between them had been back then, and how quickly they'd evolved into something completely foreign, completely different.

His throat tightened and he willed himself to snap out of it. Shelby obviously didn't want to go for a trip down memory lane, and she most certainly didn't want to hear his apology. She'd made that more than clear the day before, and her refusal to even look at him at breakfast, combined with the absolutely enraged look that crossed her face when Peter announced they'd be paired together, more or less sealed the deal.

"Thank you ever so much Peter, thank you so _fucking _much."

Strike one.

Shelby's low voice, delivered through gritted teeth, penetrated their silent surroundings.

He slowed his pace, nearly stopping short; she'd wanted him to hear it. He knew she wanted him to hear it, why would she have said it out loud in the first place in that wasn't her intention? Nevertheless, he wasn't sure how to respond. She had a right to be mad at him, he'd give her that. But how long did he have to take the abuse? How long would it last? _If I just sit here and take it like a little bitch, it might make it worse_, Scott reasoned to himself, macho pride momentarily overruling common sense_. Right, Scott. A lot of good that approach did you last night_, he reminded himself, curling his fingers up into tight fists, willing himself to stay calm. If she wanted to talk to him, he'd wait. He wasn't about to play these games.

"Five other Cliffhangers, so many combinations to choose from…"

Strike two.

She was pushing it.

She was looking for an argument, wasn't she? There was no other explanation. It wasn't as if she'd miraculously forgotten he was a few steps behind her, in a setting so silent and still that he was capable of hearing her teeth grinding. But he wasn't going to give in. No, not this time, he wasn't sure if he had the self-control to suppress another reflexive insult.

"…and I get stuck with _him_."

Strike three.

"Look, I said I was sorry!" Scott exploded, causing her to stop abruptly. She didn't immediately turn around, so he pressed on. "How many different ways do you want me to say it? And you know, why should I even bother? You won't even listen, so what's the point? I'm not going to get down on my hands and knees and beg, Shelby!"

"I don't expect you to."

"Then what do you want from me?!"

Shelby stared at him, her eyes locking with his, his impassioned question, plea even, echoing in her ears.

Good question, Scott.

What did she want from him, really?

To tell her that he hadn't meant anything he'd said last night?

To kiss her hard against the tree beside her because – though she'd never, ever admit it now – that was all she'd been able to think about since that day in the clearing?

To walk off a cliff and disappear, never to be seen or heard from again because vultures ate his mangled remains?

She didn't know. At this point, she really didn't know. So she went with the safe answer; the "Shelby" answer.

"What do I want? From you? Nothing," she said, her tone crisp, "absolutely nothing."

----------

Peter sat at his desk, rubbing his forehead slightly, listening to the wind outside.

He'd just sent home a student who'd recently, after months of hiding it, of keeping it inside, confessed his father had been beating him; that he'd sacrificed himself in order to spare his younger brother. The beatings lead to his alcohol abuse and subsequent suicide attempts. Peter had pleaded, had begged him to talk with CPS. When that failed, he tried speaking with his mother; the student had revealed that she was aware of what was going on, but as it turned out, the woman was a victim herself, and feared for her own life if she intervened.

In the end, Peter's hands were tied. All he could do was assure himself that the boy had learned a lot at Horizon. That he could use those tools, and the strength he'd gained once he got home and –

All of a sudden, Sophie burst in the door, yanking Peter from his thoughts. Pulling a pair of gloves over her hands, she grabbed Peter's jacket off the rack and tossed it across the desk to him.

"Curtis just sent a report from the weather service. Severe weather tonight. Storms, high winds, hail – the temperature is dropping pretty fast too. The Trackers just came back, but the Cliffhangers are still out there" she informed him, zipping up her jacket.

Peter nodded, his eyes widening slightly as he moved a series of papers aside to grab a small stack of maps. "We'll get a group at a time. If they stayed on course, there won't be anything to worry about."

----------

They didn't speak again until the path split.

After consulting the map, he started to go left.

She started to go right.

"Where the hell are you going?" she snapped, hands on her hips.

Scott rolled his eyes, backing up to thrust the map in her face.

"We're here," he said, frustration evident in his voice, motioning towards a small red triangle on the map. "Look, we're supposed to go left."

"You're reading it wrong, we're supposed to go _right._"

"Shelby, look at the goddamn map. Its _left_."

"_Right_."

"_Left."_

"You're an idiot, we go _right."_

Her voice was cold, her glare colder.

Scott inhaled sharply and closed his eyes for a moment as rain began to lightly pelt his face. He knew she was wrong. Hell, _she_ might have even known she was wrong. But continuing this argument wasn't going to get them anywhere, and he knew it.

What had his mother told him about women long ago, before his parents marriage shattered to bits, before girls became more than cootie infested blips on his radar? Something about letting a woman be right, even if it was clear she was dead wrong?

Since his own pearls of wisdom hadn't been working out so well lately, he decided to defer to his mother's.

"Fine. We'll go right."

Wrong move.

----------

The terrain was becoming rougher. The path they'd walked before was relatively clear, save some leaves and small branches, an overgrown bush here and there. This one was different: rocky and narrow, with thick brush and downed trees. It was doubtful Peter would have sent them down this trail.

He sidestepped a thorny mass of briars and knew they should have gone left.

Scott considered suggesting a turn around, but kept his mouth shut. The map showed the two paths - left and right - once again converged into one a few miles ahead, about a mile shy of their final destination. So long as the trail didn't become impassable, or they didn't kill each other first, they'd make it through just fine.

Rounding a slight bend, he noticed the number of downed trees, no doubt due to the storms that had been rocking the area all season long, was increasing not only in number, but in size as well.

Keeping his eyes on the ground, he located two sturdy looking branches that could function as walking sticks.

Thinking a friendly gesture might finally break the ice, he glanced over his shoulder, holding the stick back to her. "Its getting a little rougher so…"

Before Scott could finish, she yanked the stick out of his hand, and then let it drop out of her own.

Very mature, Shelby.

Scott rolled his eyes, quickly turning around so he was facing her, stopping completely. He was so abrupt that she nearly ran into him. His patience, what little he had left, was wearing thin. "What the hell is your deal?!" he demanded, completely perplexed.

Shelby just stared at him, expression blank.

"Huh!?" he barked, stepping closer to her, at which point she took a hasty step back, fear flashing in her eyes for a millisecond. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but he noticed, and backed off. "I was trying to do you a favor," he huffed, reining in his harsh tone.

"I don't need _you_ doing me any favors. Quit with the Mr. Nice Guy act."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said, you can drop the _act._"

"This isn't an _act_, I'm just trying to be nice!"

"Nice?"

"Yeah, nice. I can be nice."

"Since when?"

"Since alwa-"

"Oh come off it, Scott! You were always just so super-duper nice to me, weren't you? I mean, the time you gave me the fake invitation to your birthday party in 8th grade? And then laughed in my face the next week in front of everyone? That was _awesome_ of you! Score one for the nice guy!"

Scott inwardly cringed, recalling the cruel prank. "That's not how it was – "

"Oh really? Then, please, explain it to me: how was it?"

"You know how it is when you're young like that. You just to what your friends do – "

"So you're a follower, not a leader? Some hero you are!"

"Shelby, I didn't say t – "

"But you are. Doing something just because everyone else is doing it? You're a follower. And what about later on, Scott, huh? Even when all your friends, well the guys anyway, even when they all liked me, you were still an asshole. What was your excuse then?"

"Maybe 'cause I didn't wanna be nice to anyone."

"I get it, so you made a point of being especially heinous to me. Reality check, Barringer: You haven't been nice to me since we were ten. And fuck it, whatever, that's fine. But don't try to suggest otherwise. Bullshit really isn't becoming on you."

"Look, can we just –"

"Skip this little journey to the past? Get this stupid assignment over with while conversing as little as possible? Fine by me!" Shelby spat, arms crossed, jaw locked angrily.

Her eyes were staring daggers and Scott knew her well enough to know - once again - that this was going nowhere.

He resigned himself to walking in silence, the only soundtrack now being chirping birds, leaves rustling in the trees, and twigs crunching beneath their feet.

"Bad step," he muttered softly.

Too softly.

She didn't hear him; she couldn't have heard him, his voice was so muffled. Subconsciously, he didn't want her to hear him. He was through talking, through trying to get through to her. He was just done.

It was another bad move.

Lost in her own troubled thoughts, Shelby was hardly paying attention to the landscape in front of her. Scott had dutifully broken into her thoughts every now and then to relay a "bad step," and she'd thank him with a cool, sarcastic quip.

Perhaps she should have been a little more cordial, because she never saw the log coming.

She stepped up onto it, as it wasn't high off the ground, but immediately lost her footing as the rotting wood gave way and rolled forward. She slipped, her legs giving way quickly as her body flew into the air, almost like a rag doll. She landed hard on her right ankle, immediately crumpling beneath her, the back of her head slamming against the ground with a loud "thwack!"

She yelped. Then she screamed. Then she whimpered, a low, pathetic whimper.

"What's your problem now?"

Scott turned around, exasperated when he received no answer.

What the hell _was_ her problem now? Part of him hoped she'd been eaten by some kind of wild, six headed beast – until he reasoned that said six headed beast would probably enjoy his own limbs for dessert. Regardless, her temper tantrums and childish behavior were really starting to grate on his nerves. He was trying the best he could, and in return, she was – oh no, this wasn't just Shelby being dramatic. She was on the ground, her body in a crumpled heap, clutching her head; her ankle was already beginning to swell.

"Shit! What happened?!" he asked, his voice thick with concern as he ran over to help her sit up.

She couldn't hold it in; emotional pain she could handle. She could harness her feelings for hours, days, months, years. But the searing pain shooting through her ankle was another story. She couldn't use any mechanism to numb the ache and tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks. She looked down at the ground, cursing her stupidity, willing herself to stop crying. Unsuccessful, she looked up at him through dark, wet lashes.

"It's nothing. Just … just go, okay? I'm fine. I'll catch up."

"Shelby, cut the crap!," Scott seethed. "Enough with the fucking games, this is serious! You're not fine! Weren't you paying attention? I said 'bad step'!"

"I didn't hear you."

"Well I said it loud enough!"

Right.

"I'm sorry, okay!? I didn't hear you!"

Scott sighed heavily, refusing to feel guilty about his blatant lie, looking up just as a bolt of lightening cracked across the sky. The rain that had started out as a light drizzle was coming down harder now, mixing with hard pellets of – as it couldn't get any worse – hail; tiny, pea sized hail, beating down on them, stinging his, her, their soaking wet skin. Noticing her wince, Scott forced himself to remain calm. He needed to be the strong one here, he needed to be the leader, the caretaker.

_Ok, Scott, observe your surroundings. Work with what you've got. Yeah, what you've got is a lot of twigs and leaves. Maybe I could build a shelter – yeah right. This isn't the Swiss Family Robinson, Barringer. You can't build a palace in the trees, this is reality. _

Grasping his head in his hands, trying not to panic, he chomped down on his lip, walking forward a bit, glancing around the next bend.

More twigs, branches, leaves, rocks – wait, was he hallucinating?

Glancing back at Shelby, he held up a single finger, jogging towards the apparent mirage. It had to be a mirage, because this _wasn't_ the Swiss Family Robinson and he just _wasn't_ that lucky.

But this time, he _was_.

It was a small cave, possibly man made for campers considering its size and previously used fire pit; a small, but not tiny, covered enclave large enough to fit two bickering kids until the storm subsided.

Well, at least they'd be dry.

Sighing deeply, thanking the higher powers for cutting him a break, he made his way back to Shelby who'd stopped crying but hadn't moved a muscle, scooping up his pack and her petite frame before she could protest, blinking raindrops away as he charged towards shelter.

Once inside, he set her down gently, wordlessly, shrugging in response to the questioning look she gave him after she observed their new surroundings.

"Well, uh, it looks like we're not going anywhere for now," Scott commented uneasily, jamming his hands in his pockets for a moment, looking everywhere but at her. "At least not until it clears up a little. So, uh, we'll get you comfortable, and – "

"No!" Shelby suddenly shrieked, causing him to jump a bit. Her head was throbbing, her ankle was beginning to resemble a purple balloon, and the last person she wanted to be around was Scott Barringer. Swallowing quickly, she bit her lip, softening her tone. "I – I mean – just go and send someone back for me, I'll be fine."

"That's not what I'd want if it happened to me. I can't just leave you out here like this, Shelby," he spat, frustration coursing through his veins as he retrieved his small first aid kit from his pack, crouching down to wrap her swelling ankle.

"God, Scott, for once, realize this isn't about _you_. That's what _I_ want. It's nothing new."

"What are you talking about?"

He ignored the first dig, lightly grasping her ankle, his eyes frozen with her own, asking a million wordless questions; his voice was soft, gentle. It almost made her want to cry and she didn't even know why.

"Nothing. Just … nothing. Just go, okay?"

Her teeth were chattering, her lower lip was quivering, and Scott was through trying to hide his concern. "No, I'm staying right here. You're hurt, you hit your head. What happens if you have a concussion, and you black out while I'm gone?" he demanded, rifling through his pack, pulling out a hooded sweatshirt that he'd never once thought he'd need that day. "Here. Take this so you don't freeze."

"It's no big deal okay? I don't need this, I don't need y—"

"Shelby, just shut up for once," Scott ordered, cutting her off. He was forceful, but his voice lacked a hard edge. "I know you think I'm a prick and I'm probably the last person you want to be with right now. But seriously, just shut up for once and let me try to do something decent."

For once, Shelby just nodded wordlessly.

For once, she bit her tongue and held back the one-liners, the quick quips.

For once, she was tired - _so tired _- of fighting.

And so for once, she'd shut up and let him _try _to do something decent_._


	10. try honesty

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it. If I did, it'd be out on DVD, officially. I have never used a beta, so all mistakes are mine.

AN: This actually would have been up sooner (_a lot _sooner), but I spent a lot of time rolling a certain plot twist - a twist that would have totally changed the direction of the story, and the series (from _Seductions_, which will have a heavy influence on this chapter, and the next,onward) for that matter - around in my head before deciding that it was just too unrealistic and out of character.

This chapter, like the last, was, for lack of a more eloquent term, a steaming piece of crap. It's been completely re-written, and split into two parts - which made it difficult for me to choose exactly where I would cut the first part off (and I'm still not entirely certain about it/pleased with it). Hopefully, that will make it easier for me to get the second half out quickly, but I promise nothing.

Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed, added this story to their alerts, or both!

--------------

"You're wrong, you know."

Shelby had been amusing herself with a thrilling one player game of tic-a-toe for the past fifteen minutes. Prior to that, she'd been drawing farm animals with the tip of a small stick. She'd managed to fashion a cow, a duck, and a mysterious looking blob that might pass for an elephant if you squinted really hard and turned your head at a certain angle. However, her artistic skills were limited, so when the lion she'd been working on clearly looked nothing like Simba, squinting and head maneuvering duly considered, she'd chosen X's and O's over hangman.

She would have - _could _have - asked Scott to play, make it a little more, well, interesting. But she hadn't. He'd asked that she let him do something decent. Decent was not leaving her alone to freeze in the middle of a raging storm. She figured any person, with any discernable sense of humanity, wouldn't leave a cripple (or so she romanticized herself in her head) in the swirling rain and wind. But playing a game with the cripple you'd rescued from the middle of a raging storm? That wasn't decent, that was downright _friendly_.

Scott had said nothing about _friendly_, and she certainly wasn't about to give him a free bonus.

After drawing a line through a row of X's (she'd always preferred the X's, and had once thrown a dignified fit when one of her kindergarten classmates had started their game with an X - _her _X - in the center square), she glanced down. Even though she'd been using the stick, dirt - a lot of dirt - had managed to find it's way under her fingernails.

She needed to wash her hands.

No, scratch that, she needed a long, hot, endless shower. She needed an enormous cup of really strong coffee with a few shots of really good espresso. She'd use said strong coffee to wash down a handful of even stronger pain killers. She absolutely needed those.

Really, she needed a lot of things.

Scott telling her that she was _wrong_ - the first words spoken by either of them since she'd silently agreed to a détente of sorts - however, certainly wasn't one of them.

Dropping her stick, her eyes narrowed as she barely looked over at the brooding figure who'd been watching her from his perch on the other side of the smoldering fire - inconspicuously, he thought - for the past hour.

Right. He was about as inconspicuous and subtle as Britney Spears' performance at the VMA's.

"Excuse me?"

He was pretty sure her tone was frigid enough to freeze the Pacific Ocean, which is why he was really hoping that this conversation he was venturing into would be more of an ice breaker than the cause of widespread maritime disaster.

"I said you're wrong," he repeated, knowing full well that it wasn't necessary, that she'd heard every syllable the first time around, though he knew this meant there was no turning back: she was either going to insist that he join her in her lifeboat, or he was going to valiantly - albeit painfully - go down with the ship. "Earlier, earlier you said I haven't been nice to you since we were ten. That isn't true. You're wrong."

Shelby stared at him for a few moments, as if a third eye was forming in the middle of his forehead. Did he really want to go there? Was he really going to nitpick like that? Because she might have knocked off a couple of years when she was telling him off in the heat of the moment? Was this his attempt at being _decent_?

She was tempted to hit him, but he was too far away and any sudden movements were more than certainly out of the question.

Damnit.

"Are you really trying to argue semantics right now?"

Scott shrugged. "Hey, you're trying to cut out two solid years where I wasn't a complete asshole to you," he said matter-of-factly, ignoring the way her eyes nearly fell right out of their sockets upon his admission. "You're trying to discount all of those candy cigarettes, the ones that actually _smoked_, I bought from the ice cream man _every day _for you that summer before eighth grade. You're not acknowledging all those times I let you copy my math homework because you _said_ homework wasn't cool but just about pissed your pants when Mrs. Morzenskie almost caught you. Oh Jesus, and the time I flirted with Kim Martelli," he continued, making a face that made it clear just how painful _that_ experience had been, "to distract her so _you _could get the last issue of Teen _Something _with Jonathan Taylor _Whoever _on the cover…"

He was still talking about how Kim Martelli had given him _the eye_ and told him he should definitely come over to swim in her pool, but Shelby didn't hear any of if. She just stared at him, her mouth agape, unsure of what to think, or what to say.

First of all, she was a little surprised he still remembered those things. She'd been fairly sure that their friendship, or at least the finer points, was something he erased from his memory. That she didn't have a place in the eternal sunshine of Scott Barringer's spotless mind.

Second, what was he getting at anyway? That they'd been good friends once? That yes, before he treated her like some kind of gross fungus on the bottom of his foot, he'd done a lot of nice things for her, and vice versa?

But that was then. This was now. Whether he was ten or not, he hadn't treated her like a friend…hadn't treated her like a living, breathing, _feeling _human being in a long, long time.

"…and then you took _forever_ to come find me afterwards. I mean, I was just standing there and you left the freaking store to get ice cream?!"

He paused momentarily to exhale and Shelby grabbed the opportunity, cutting him off.

Her first instinct, obviously not well thought out, was to remind him that when she'd left to get ice cream, she'd brought him back a bomb pop - Scott's favorite (well, they used to be his favorite, anyway.)

But she didn't. She had a feeling that was exactly what he wanted. She wouldn't give that easily.

"So what's your point, Scott?" she asked, her voice sounding more tired and defeated than she wanted it to.

He sighed, glancing at her - sitting there, ankle propped up on her pack, still swelling under the ace bandage he'd painstakingly wrapped, hair damp, looking exhausted…looking like she was five years old again (and why did that make his heart fucking _ache_?) - before looking away, out into the storm.

He wasn't even sure if he had a point.

He just _wished _- selfishly, he knew - that she would stop hating him. That she would stop treating him like a plague, or a disease, though he knew full well that there was a time when he'd done just as much harm. That he could just stop the tape and press rewind; he'd close his eyes when all of the bad parts passed, reversing all the wrongs that he'd done, that her parents had done, that his parents had done, that _she'd_ done.

He knew exactly where he would pause.

They were five years old. There was no divorce, no discord - at least not that they knew about. Just a summer, stretching out endlessly in front of them, without a care in the world. They knew nothing of what waited for them in the coming months (Shelby's father would move out, first across town, then to some far away place called California. Her mother would meet a new man. She'd quit dancing. Her eyes would become a little more dull, even when she smiled), the coming years (Scott's mother relocated to New Mexico, where her art could flourish, but her son's budding gridiron career couldn't, so he would stay behind. His father would remarry. He wouldn't smile much at all.)

"I can't rewind the tape," he murmured, his voice laced with regret, not even realizing he'd spoken out loud for a few moments.

Scott cleared his throat and clenched his fists.

"I guess my point is, I'm sorry, ok? I know you don't want to hear that because you think I'm full of shit, but I really am sorry. Not just for what happened yesterday, or today, or a year ago. I'm sorry for all those times I ditched you, or said things about you, or ignored you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you…a lot of things…"

His voice trailed off. He was sorry he didn't tell her how his life had started to turn upside down when he was fourteen: when they started high school and their friendship completely disintegrated, when his father became serious about a woman for the first time since his mother had left, when that woman decided that the eldest Barringer wasn't the only one who struck her twisted fancy…but he couldn't tell her now.

Too much had happened. Too much had changed.

He wanted her to like him again, to respect him again. Not to look at him like the circus sideshow freak that he was.

"I'm just sorry, Shelby," he sighed, catching her gaze and holding it, looking her dead in the eye. "I'm sorry."

--------------

This was not what she'd been expecting, and this was certainly not something she was equipped to handle.

Shelby knew how to fight with him; in fact, that was her area of expertise. She majored in Conflict with a minor in Disputes. Her favorite class was Quarreling 101 and he was her familiar study buddy. She knew where to aim her best barbs for maximum damage. She knew how to defend herself. She was a star pupil.

But apparently there were other requirements she wasn't aware of, such as Civilized Conversation 202, and she was failing miserably. Save those few strange, blissful, out of character moments in the clearing, when they were practicing for the X-Challenge (and when he _might_ have _potentially_ been _possibly_ trying to kiss her), she didn't know how to _talk_ to Scott.

More importantly, though, even if she knew how to talk to him, she didn't know how to analyze his responses.

Five years ago, she would have believed almost anything that came out of Scott Barringer's mouth. Unless of course he was saying something stupid, as he often did, like that he was a better soccer player, or a better dancer, or a better _anything _(except football; she'd always give him football). Always, always a lie.

This was now, though, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't really know Scott anymore.

She didn't know if his favorite color was still blue, or if he still had a blushing crush Jennifer Love Hewitt, though she suspected he'd gotten over it. She didn't know if he still got upset when anyone dared to mention _Old Yeller, _because he'd had a golden retriever when he was younger and developed an irrational fear of rabies and guns . She didn't know if he still inhaled banana pancakes for breakfast, as if he'd never see another stack again, or if he still picked tomatoes off of his double cheeseburgers because they made him gag, or if he always asked for a mix of chocolate and cherry in his milkshakes. She wasn't sure if he could still be your worst enemy on any athletic field and your best friend as soon as he stepped off of it because from what she could see, looking at the way he'd treated her, and others in general over the last few years, he wasn't the same person at all.

For all their history, Shelby felt like she knew nothing about him. So she trusted him as much as she trusted anyone else at Horizon. Which pretty much meant that she didn't.

"So, say Horizon disappeared and we went back to school tomorrow. Back to the way things used to be before I left," Shelby began slowly, evenly, suspicion evident in her wary eyes, "would you still be sorry?"

"Sorry? I'd probably be fucking suicidal," he admitted, not thinking, before he could stop himself.

Shelby let out a nervous chuckle (_was that a joke?_) and felt a bit like an asshole until he followed suit.

Scott let his shoulders relax, slumping forward a bit as he thought about the ramifications if her scenario was to ever become their reality. Going back home, back to his friends (who they were these days, he wasn't really sure), back to school, back to football, back to his own bedroom…

"If Horizon disappeared tomorrow, I wouldn't go back to school, back home. I don't know where I'd go, but I wouldn't go back home. Unless they forced me, I guess. But yeah, I'd still be sorry."

"Me too. Well, about not going home, I mean…."

"Yeah."

"So…"

"So…is this an apology accepted?" Scott questioned, his tone tinged with hope, more than a little eager to steer the conversation away from exactly why his home life might make him question the value of little things, like breathing, "Or do I have to keep begging? Not that I wouldn't, because I would, but…"

Shelby sighed deeply, looking up at the jagged ceiling of the cave, thinking for a moment, dramatically, that it'd be easier to impale herself on one of those rounded edges than to have this conversation with him. Than to tell him the truth.

Ah, the truth. She wondered if everyone had such difficulties deciphering what was real and true, or if she was just exceptionally, profoundly screwed up.

Well, she knew she didn't want to argue with him anymore. She didn't want to be so _angry _with him anymore. Not only was it exhausting, it seemed so pointless. But at the same time, she didn't want to let her guard down, only to have him kick her in the stomach, again. To humiliate her again. To leave her even more angry, and even more exhausted than she was before.

"You don't have to beg, Scott. But…its going to take some time. 'I'm sorry,' is a step, not a solution. You can't make it okay overnight. You've done and said a lot of things.."

"Shelby, I'm…"

"I know, you're sorry. I heard you. I don't know if I believe you, but I'm willing to stick around and see."

"Not that you have much choice right now," Scott reminded her wryly, gesturing to her bum ankle.

Shelby's expression softened a bit before she cringed, looking down at her stupid immobile limb. She had a bump forming on the back of her head, too; the more she stared at her ankle, all swelling and the full range of purples in the big Crayola box, the more she wished the fall had knocked her out. Not only could this potentially awkward situation have been avoided, she would have been out like a light until Peter found them. He'd be so distraught at her condition that he'd give her all the pain meds she wanted.

Yeah, right.

"Well, you picked a good time for the 'sorry,' speech, I suppose. You got yourself a captive audience, Barringer."

"Just as I planned, obviously."

The two teenagers exchanged the smallest of smiles, and settled into a silence that was hovering on the border of comfortable and awkward.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?" he replied, a little too quickly, a little too eagerly.

Shelby wasn't really sure how to put this. She paused for a moment, trying to re-word the statement in her head, trying to remove the awkward element from the confession she had to make. She wanted to keep putting it off, as she had for over an hour now, but she simply couldn't wait any longer.

She closed her eyes, bracing herself.

Just a few small words…

"Um. Well. I--I have to go."

He gave her a look, his eyes going from her face - if he didn't know any better, it looked a little flushed - to the storm that continued to rage on outside and back again. Was she kidding him right now?

"What?"

"I have to _go_."

"Right. Should I call a cab?" He whipped out an invisible cell phone, and 'dialed, 'waiting a few moments before he spoke. "Yeah, I need a ride. I know it's there's a hybrid cross between a freaking hurricane, tornado and I don't know, snowstorm? Whatever, going on outside, but Queen Shelby here wa--"

"Scott! Stop being an asshole!"

"Well what do you want me to do, Shelby, we can't lea-"

"I'm not asking to leave, if you would just sh--"

"What do you mean you're not asking to leave, you just said you had t-"

"Scott, I have to _go_. I have to _pee_!"

Silence.

"Oh! Right. Yeah. Of course. You have to go…right. Yeah."

--------------

It had been nearly three hours since he helped her towards the back of the cave, the situation forcing her to literally lean on him as she hobbled along. He sensed her trying to more faster than she really felt comfortable going, her eyes glued to the ground as she muttered about a band of speedy tortoises lapping them more than a few times. He'd smirked, assuring her that if there were any turtles running circles around them, they were surely taking more performance enhancing drugs than Jose Canseco ever had. His response had seemed to mollify her and he felt her relax, letting him lead her along. Upon her orders, he turned his back to her red face, plugging his ears ("Like I've never heard you pee before!" he'd protested, only to be greeted with a look of death), and counting sixty Mississippi's so she could relieve herself.

Once they got resituated, Shelby started to nod off. She fought to stay awake, blonde hair splayed upon a pillow made of dry leaves, but her eyelids betrayed her, drooping downward as she absently asked him if he still loved bomb pops.

"Yeah, I still love bomb pops," he laughed quietly, shaking his head at the random nature of her inquiry, but she was already asleep.

Scott, however, would not be so lucky. There were suddenly no more distractions, nothing (_alcohol, drugs, Shelby, Shelby, Shelby_) to keep his mind off the obvious.

It'd been storming the first time she'd come to him.

His father was out of town on business. Scott had arrived home late, as an extensive film study session had followed the conclusion of his usual two-a-day's and weight lifting regiment.

He'd barely made it in the door before the sky opened up.

The entire house had been dark and still as he gobbled down a few pieces of cold, leftover pizza and retreated to his room, stripping off his gray t-shirt as he walked across the hardwood floor towards his bed.

He'd almost been asleep when he heard the door creak open, an impressive bolt of lightening illuminating the room as she appeared in the doorway. He figured she was just checking on him - trying to be motherly or something, so he kept his eyes closed until he heard her whisper his name.

"_Scotty?"_

Just thinking about it made his stomach turn.

She begged him to let her sleep in his bed. Complained that his father wasn't there, and she was afraid of thunderstorms. She just couldn't sleep alone that night.

He thought it was strange, but slowly agreed, in part because he just wanted to get back to sleep. As she climbed in beside him, her weight causing the mattress to shift, he closed his eyes again and willed himself to relax. His muscles were aching and … all of a sudden, her hand grazed his bare abs. He swallowed, and inwardly shook his head. It was just a mistake - she'd accidentally brushed against him.

He was imagining things - like the way he thought she looked at him by the pool the other day - and it was sick. It was disgusting. She was his father's _wife_. She was just trying to be friendly.

It was no big deal, he told himself. No big deal.

He felt her touch again, and instantly stiffened.

"_Scotty,"_ she'd whispered, her voice no longer afraid, but rather breathy and foreign.

Exhaling sharply in the present, Scott rested his head between his hands, his fingers wrapping around a fistful of curls, tugging moderately, trying to keep himself under control. But he couldn't, because it hadn't been an accident. It wasn't 'no big deal.' And it didn't stop there. Not that night. Not for many nights after.

"_Scotty? Scotty, are you up?"_

She might have been hundreds of miles away, but it seemed the worse the storm became, the closer she felt. With every rumble of thunder he heard her; with every flash of lightening, he saw her.

Scott stood up, anxiously pacing, wearing a path back and forth in front of the fire as he tried to think of something, anything, else.

"_Scotty…"_

"No. Shut up," he muttered, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, teeth clenched.

"_..this is our little secret."_

"Shut up!" Scott seethed, clamping his hand's down over his ears.

"_Scotty, you don't.."_

"Scott?"

He turned around so quickly, he was pretty sure he heard his neck crack.

Shelby was awake, looking up at him, sleepy-eyed, with a mixture of skepticism, curiosity, and concern. "Scott?" she repeated, propping herself up on her elbows, forcing a nervous smile. "Is there an imaginary friend I should know about?"

Scott's mouth went dry and he wondered how he was going to work his way out of this one.

"Nah, I was just uh, singing. Its uh, its called 'Shut Up.' The song, I mean. Some ah, some weird indie band Mark used to listen to. Um, lame song. I hate it, but its stuck in my head."

He stumbled over his words as he sat down a few feet away from her; even as he spoke, he could hear just how unconvincing he sounded.

"Sorry I woke you up," he offered lamely, when she didn't reply.

She just nodded slowly, continuing to stare at him.

"What?" he asked, almost bashfully, turning away from her gaze for a moment, refusing to left her see just how mortified he truly was over what she'd seen, what'd she'd heard. He glanced over at her again; she was still watching him intently. "Stop looking at me like that, I know I can't sing," he protested, forcing his voice to take on a light quality.

"_Scotty? I'm scared of the storm."_

No. Not now.

A pause.

"Do you know how long its been since you've looked at me without looking like you want to kill me?" he blurted out, "Or that you're like, I don't know, ashamed of me or something? Wish I'd known that all I had to do was carry a lousy tune."

Shelby blinked.

"What?"

Well, that was an effective subject change.

"Do you remember?"

"I don't--"

"I do. Last time. You were laughing. We were laughing. You looked…I wanted to…you were going to let me, but Peter…"

He was cut off by a clap of thunder. The lightening immediately following. The storm was right on top of them. She was right on top of them, of him, and he couldn't shake her

"_I saw how you watched me, Scotty."_

Shelby's heart was pounding. She thought they'd wordlessly agreed to never talk about what happened that day. It had been months now. She'd told herself time and time again that it had been a lapse in judgment. That it meant nothing, and his actions since then had been proof enough.

"Scott, what are you--"

She didn't get a chance to finish.

Before she realized what was happening, he closed the distance between them, his lips quickly covering hers, his tongue urgently probing the inside of her mouth. His hand rested on her forearm and she vaguely realized that the right thing to do would be to push him off. To order him to stop. To slap him silly because this wasn't just beyond _decent_, this was beyond _friendly_, and just because he'd said he was sorry and she'd cracked a few jokes didn't mean he could just _kiss her…_

He pulled away momentarily, his breathing labored as he looked into Shelby's wide, confused eyes.

He could still see her. She was standing right over her shoulder, dressed in a black silk negligee (his father had brought it back from an Italian business trip, presenting it to her proudly in a trendy looking bag from some obscenely expensive boutique; Scott's stomach had turned when her eyes had immediately flashed to him), raven locks flowing carelessly around her shoulders, dark eyes gleaming, a sharp contrast against Shelby's pale skin, hair, eyes.

"Scott, I--I--" Shelby stammered, her gaze still locked on him, looking more unsure than he'd ever seen her. "What are we--what are you--what--"

"Shelby?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking."

Another pause as she looked into his eyes, his face just inches from her own, trying desperately to get a read on him.

And then, in a whisper, "Make me want to stop."

_**--------------**_


End file.
